


A Second Chance

by Salr323



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/M, RST, UST, season 4, shippy mushiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-19
Updated: 2002-08-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 78,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salr323/pseuds/Salr323
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack has a woman in his life, and it's not Sam...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Second Chance

Prologue 

Jack O'Neill lay on his back with his eyes closed, breathing heavily. "Oh my God," he whispered at last, "Oh God." 

She smiled, propping herself up on one elbow. "Told you it'd be fun," she murmured, trailing a finger across his sweat-damp chest and smiling as she felt him quiver at her touch. 

Jack opened his eyes and reached up to stroke her face. "You're incredible," he breathed. 

"I bet that's what you tell all the girls," she teased. 

A grin flashed across his face, lighting up his dark eyes like starlight and sending her heart tripping wildly. "You're the first," he said seriously, "the first in a long, long time." 

She just smiled at him again, letting her fingers drift slowly down his chest and across his stomach. Jack's eyes fluttered shut and a little moan of anticipation escaped his lips as her fingers worked their way downward.... 

And then her cell phone started to ring, the tone muffled beneath the pile of tangled clothes that that lay discarded nearby. "Now what?" she sighed. Reaching over Jack, she rummaged through her clothes until her fingers closed over the phone. But the feel of his body beneath hers, still hot and slick with sweat, was enough to drive all but desire from her mind; she had to struggle to keep her voice steady when she spoke, "Hi, Natasha Greene." 

"Sorry to interrupt your vacation, Professor," said the familiar voice of her assistant, Bill Tuck. "But Doctor Jameson wants me to send you a new draft of his ASAS paper and I need an email address." 

She glanced down at Jack. "I don't have an email address here," she said and he nodded in amused agreement. 

"A fax then?" 

"Bill," she said slowly, "I'm in a cabin, by a lake. I have a phone. That's all." 

There was a long pause. And then, "What should I tell Doctor Jameson?" 

She was tempted to say, 'Tell him to get a life' but resisted. "Tell him I'll call him in the morning and we'll discuss it," she said. "And Bill? It's late. Go home." 

"I'm about to," he assured her, although she doubted it. The man worked too damn hard. "See you next week." 

"Goodnight Bill," she said, switching off the phone and throwing it back onto the floor. 

"Trouble?" Jack asked. 

But she shook her head, watching him carefully. "Just an over- anxious lecturer," she said. 

"Ah," he nodded, feigning understanding, "I hate those." 

Tasha smiled and leaned down to kiss him. "I've already forgotten about it," she assured him, and it wasn't far from the truth. "This place is too magical to worry about reality." 

Jack smiled and reached his arms around her, pulling her into a warm embrace. "Not always," he told her, "but this time it is. Thanks to you." 

She smiled against his chest, running her fingers over his warm skin. "I'm glad I agreed to come along," she said. "It's been fun." 

"Yeah," he agreed. "It has. It's been too long since I've had company up here." 

There was an odd sort of melancholy in his voice that drew her attention, and she propped herself up again on her elbow to study his face. There was sadness there and regret. "Did you used to come up here with your wife and son?" she asked softly. 

Jack nodded. "Yeah," he sighed, lowering his eyelids slightly as he looked away. "A long time ago now." 

"Not so long," she said, stroking the side of his face fondly. And then, to change the subject slightly she said, "How about your friends? Do you ever come up here with them?" 

"Not really," he replied, his pensiveness increasing. "They have different ideas about...fun," he explained with a sad smile. "So it's usually just me." Then, after a moment he added, "I managed to drag Teal'c up here last year though." 

Tasha smiled at that. "I didn't know Jaffa fished," she said. 

"They don't," he assured her, smiling more warmly at the memory. "They complain about the bugs though." 

She laughed and lowered herself back into his embrace, resting her head comfortably against his shoulder. "So," she said, "when do I get to meet Teal'c? And Major Carter too." She felt him shift slightly at her words, as if her request made him uncomfortable. "I don't mean to intrude," she added hurriedly, "it's just that you talk so much about them. But if you're not comfortable with me meeting them...?" 

"No," he said slowly, his arms tightening around her. "It's not that. It's just...its difficult to find the right time. You're busy, they're busy...." 

"Right," she replied, not entirely convinced. But in the short weeks she had known Jack O'Neill she had swiftly learned not to press him unless she wanted him to clam up entirely. "Well, I'd like to meet them some time," she said mildly. "When you're ready." 

"You will," he assured her, that oddly wistful expression back in his voice again. "You will." 

*** 

Part One 

It had been a long difficult mission at the end of a series of long difficult missions, and Sam felt both mentally and physically exhausted. But nonetheless, despite the fact that she felt as though she could sleep for a week, she found herself dutifully walking towards the commissary for one of SG-1's little rituals. It was always the way in the military, each unit developed its own little customs and rites that had to be observed. Not that they were   
superstitious, but when you put your life on the line day in and day out you did your best to service the capricious gods of luck, wherever they might be. 

And so SG-1 had a rule that, whenever they'd made it back safe and sound, they'd all gather for a bite to eat to celebrate their safe return. Sometimes it was no more than a coffee and donut in her lab, sometimes a beer in town, occasionally a full blown meal at a restaurant. Today, since they'd gotten back at a reasonable hour, it was dinner on base. It didn't really matter what they ate or where, it was just one of those knock-on-wood type rituals that had to be   
observed. 

Since the guys had showered first, Sam was the last to arrive. But someone - she suspected O'Neill - had already got her a plate of lasagna. "Hey," she said, smiling as she slipped into the remaining seat at Daniel's side and opposite the Colonel. "Thanks," she added, nodding towards the plate. "I'm starving." 

O'Neill looked up and favored her with one of his rare, non-sarcastic smiles. "It was either that or something I couldn't quite identify." 

She nodded, feeling a small pulse of warmth as their gaze held for a fraction of a second - one of those fragments of intimacy that peppered their professional relationship and gave it such zest. "You know me," she told him, dropping his gaze and picking up her fork, "I'd kill for Italian food." 

"Huh," O'Neill snorted poking at his own plate, "not sure this actually qualifies as Italian." 

"Undoubtedly it is not," Teal'c observed. "The meal is likely to have been prepared here, in Colorado." 

Jack smiled and gave Sam another amused look. "Thanks for the clarification, Teal'c." 

"Okay, okay," Daniel chimed in, tiring of the banta and raising his can of Coke in the air. "To safe returns," he said, uttering their customary toast. 

"Safe returns," they all echoed, clinking glasses and soda cans together before getting back to their meals. 

After a long, comfortable silence punctuated only by the sound of silverware clinking on plates, Daniel spoke again. "So," he said slowly, "anyone got any plans for this weekend?" 

There was a feigned innocence in his voice that drew Sam's attention from her plate to his face. "Why?" she asked, smiling as he raised his eyebrows. 

Daniel met her gaze and returned her smile. "Well," he said, "in case you didn't remember, it's my birthday on Sunday and...." 

"We hadn't forgotten," Jack jumped in, way too quickly to be believable. Sam flung him an irritated glance and he shrugged defensively. "I was just saying...," he mumbled, before dropping into silence. 

"So are you celebrating?" she asked, turning back to Daniel. 

He looked a little shy as he replied, "Um, actually, yes. I thought I'd have a few people round for dinner. I know it's short notice, but I didn't really think of it until...I was just in shower...but if you guys are free...?" 

"It sounds great," Sam grinned, reaching out and touching him on the arm. As if they wouldn't turn up! "Is it going to be in the evening?" 

"I guess," he nodded. "Seven o'clock?" 

Still smiling, Sam turned to Teal'c. "You free?" 

"I am," he replied. "I shall be honored to attend, Daniel Jackson." 

Daniel winced as he took another gulp of Coke. "Please don't feel honored," he told him. 

Teal'c made no reply, but Sam still found herself smiling at his silent response. It was always like this, she thought happily. After the tension of the mission, she always found herself smiling at these little social get-togethers - it was a kind of emotional release for them all. Turning back to O'Neill, she was surprised to see him staring distractedly down at his almost empty plate pushing the remains of his meal around with his fork. His brow was knitted together the way it always did when he was lost in thought. "So how about you, Colonel?" she asked curiously, drawing his attention from his food. "Do you have plans?" 

"Ah...no. Not really," he said, sounding as evasive as a cornered Tok'ra. 

"Not really?" Daniel echoed in amusement. "What does that mean?" 

O'Neill shifted in his seat, beginning to look decidedly uncomfortable. He glanced over at Sam again, but for some reason couldn't seem to meet her gaze. His fork was tapping nervously on   
the side of his plate and Sam could practically see him trying to formulate words. "I, um," he mumbled, looking over at Daniel again, and then back to his plate, "I was just wondering if it would be okay if I brought someone?" 

There was a long silence. Sam felt her smile freeze on her lips, not quite sure she understood him but feeling an icy dread touch her spine. Bring someone? Bring who? 

"As in a woman?" Daniel asked, breaking the stunned silence with amused incredulity. 

O'Neill's frown deepened. "No, a dog," he snapped. "Of course a woman!" 

The last bite of lasagna stuck in Sam's throat and she found herself unable to swallow the lump. Her mouth was dry, her heart thudding and her mind spinning. A woman. A date. Oh God, no. He couldn't be. Could he....? 

Daniel was her voice again when he said, "I didn't know you were seeing anyone." He sounded mildly offended, or perhaps he was just surprised. 

But Sam didn't dare look at his face to see, she didn't dare do anything other than stare at her own plate and pretend to be eating. God only knew what was showing on her face and she didn't want anyone else to find out. Jack was seeing someone else? Oh God.... 

"Yeah well," O'Neill muttered in response to Daniel's question, "that's probably because I didn't tell you." 

"No," Daniel agreed, pushing his plate away and leaning his elbows on the table. He was as curious as a gossipy woman. "So how long has this been going on? Is it anyone I know?" 

Sam raised her eyes just enough that she could see Jack's serious face, but she looked down again before he could catch a glimpse of hers. "A few months," he said quietly. "Kinda slow to start with, you know?" 

Months? Sam felt as though every precious feeling in her heart were being ripped out and stamped on. He'd been seeing someone else for months and she hadn't known - he hadn't seen fit to tell her? And all the time she'd thought...she'd imagined that he cared for her in the same way she cared for him. But he didn't. How could he, if he was seeing someone else? Anger pulsed deeply within the hurt she felt; hadn't he owed her the truth at least? Hadn't she deserved to hear about this in private and not in front of the whole damn team? Did he care so little about the feelings that had blossomed silently between them? Did he care so little about her? 

"And yeah," the Colonel carried on quietly, "it is someone you know." 

Worse and worse - it was someone on base? Someone she'd have to work with? Sam reached for her glass of water and took a sip, proud of the fact that her hand didn't tremble and her face remained impassive. Hell, she even managed a passable smile. But on the inside.... Suddenly all she wanted to do was leave. Get the hell out of there and scream her anger aloud. How could he do this to her? How could he be so callous? 

"Who?" Daniel asked, oblivious to the turmoil in which Sam found herself. 

The Colonel shrugged. "Remember that mission a couple of months ago, to P8G-827?" 

Sam frowned as she tried to recall, but her mind was too fraught to serve her properly and before she'd had time to sort through her memories Daniel said, "The one when you bitched the whole time about having to baby-sit a bunch of scientists while Sam and Teal'c were off having fun on J5R-689?" 

Okay, that explained it, she hadn't been there. So what the hell had she missed? 

"Yeah," Jack replied, with a sheepish smile. "That's the one." 

But Daniel was obviously perplexed. "So who...?" he asked. 

"Tasha," Jack replied. 

Tasha. Damn, she hated the name already. 

Daniel was still confused for a moment and then his eyes widened in astonishment. "Not Natasha Greene?" 

"Yeah." 

"*Doctor* Natasha Greene - professor emeritus in anthropology at the University of Colorado?" 

O'Neill shrugged again. "Guess so." 

Daniel laughed. "Oh that's a good one Jack," he said, "you really had me going there." 

For a moment hope sprang up in Sam's chest, but one look at O'Neill's dark and slightly hurt face killed it. He was serious, absolutely so. "I'm not joking," Jack said suddenly, pushing his chair out as if he were about to leave, although he didn't stand up. "I don't know why you think it's funny." 

The sharp scraping of the chair on the floor had snapped Sam's eyes up and for an instant they met his. But she looked right away, embarrassed and terrified of seeing pity or an apology in his face. The only way she could protect what little dignity she had left was to hide how much this felt like a betrayal and how much that betrayal hurt. It was a physical pain in the center of her being, but she swore then and there that he would *never* know. He would never know how much he'd hurt her or how much she'd cared. Never. 

"I'm sorry," Daniel said immediately, realizing that Jack was speaking the truth. "It's just...she doesn't seem your type. I mean...she's a scientist." 

"I like scientists," he muttered and he might have looked in her direction, but Sam was concentrating hard on the pepper pot at the center of the table and so she couldn't tell. After another long pause the Colonel spoke again in a lower voice, "So you don't mind if I bring her then?" 

"No!" Daniel said immediately, his enthusiasm genuine. "Please do bring her! She's a fascinating woman - well, of course you know that - but I've read some of her recent papers and I'd love another chance to talk with her." 

"Right," O'Neill muttered and rose to his feet. He seemed almost as keen to leave as Sam felt, which somewhere in the back of her mind she considered odd. "Well, guess I'll see you Sunday evening." 

"Yeah, great," Daniel replied. "Around seven." 

Jack just nodded, and then Sam felt his attention shift to her. "Um, have a good weekend Carter," he said. 

With a tremendous act of willpower, Sam forced the hurt and the anger to one side and made herself look up and into his face. But she barely knew what she saw there, so intent was she in keeping her own features devoid of treacherous emotion. "Thank you, sir," she said. "You too." 

He hesitated, watching her uncertainly for a moment, before he nodded and turned away, leaving her shattered. 

"Huh," Daniel muttered at her side, "that's classic Jack O'Neill for you. 'Oh by the way, I've been seeing someone for a couple of months - and it just happens to be the world's leading expert on.... Sam?" 

Shaking herself, she turned to Daniel with a smile she knew was sickly. "Huh?" 

He frowned and suspicion flared in his eyes. "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah," she sighed, also rising to her feet. "Tired. I think I'm gonna hit the road. It's been a tough week and I just want to go home." 

Daniel nodded slowly. "Right," he said. "Well, goodnight then. And see you on Sunday?" 

Forcing herself not to grimace, Sam nodded. "Yeah," she said, "looking forward to it." Yeah, right, looking forward to it about as much as a root canal. God, there had to be a way to get out of it! 

With another forced smile she left, wondering how the hell it was possible for the bottom to fall out of her world within ten short minutes. 

*** 

Jack pulled the door to his office closed slowly and turned the key in the lock. He couldn't wait to get home. It had been a long, long week and he sometimes genuinely thought he was getting too old for all the shit they had to put up with. His lower back ached dully and his knees.... Hell, he couldn't remember a time when they didn't protest most of the time. With a yawn he shrugged on his jacket and made his way to the elevator, his thoughts distracted. 

He'd told them. After three months of dithering and procrastinating he'd bitten the bullet and told them about Tasha. Not there was any real reason not to, other than his own preference for privacy. It had been so long since he'd done the dating thing that the last thing he'd wanted as he'd fumbled through the early stages were the curious questions and smooth smiles of his team. But now they knew, all of them. Including Carter. 

He sighed as he rounded the corner, watching his polished boots as they traipsed along the dull gray floor. He hadn't known what to expect from Carter - relief, indifference or disappointment. And even now he wasn't entirely sure how she'd taken the news. She'd been quiet, hadn't said anything really, but she hadn't looked upset. Which was a good thing, he reminded himself. Hurting her was the last thing he'd ever want to do, and if he'd thought for a moment that she felt for him what he felt for her.... He sighed and shook his head, refusing to go over that old inner-debate again. Any hope on that front was over and in the past now, she'd made that clear every day since the whole zay'tarc fiasco - leave it in the room, Jack. Leave it in the goddamn room. 

As he approached the elevators he raised his pensive gaze from his feet and they came to rest squarely on...Carter. Typical. 

She stood before the elevator dressed in her civvies with her black leather jacket flung over one shoulder, raking a hand through her slightly disheveled hair. He slowed abruptly, suddenly wary, but at that moment she glanced over and their eyes met. Damn. 

He forced a smile and crossed the remaining distance between them. "Hey," he nodded, not quite looking at her, "heading home?" 

"Yes sir." Her voice was thin and dry, drawing his attention to her face. She looked pale. 

"You okay?" he asked.. 

A brief, dark smile touched her lips before she said, rather coldly, "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?" 

"I don't know," he muttered awkwardly, surprised by the chill in her voice. 

After a moment she added, "It was a tough mission. I'm tired." 

"Yeah," he agreed, watching her from beneath his brow. 

Silence stretched tensely between them. She didn't look at him, didn't speak, and neither did he. But he watched her, noting the hard set of her jaw and the tense line between her eyes as she stared at the elevator doors as if willing them to open. Nervously he scuffed his boots on the floor, wondering if he should say something about Tasha. Although what he could say, he had no idea. It wasn't as if he owed her an explanation - Carter had made her position clear   
enough to him many times. Whatever she might have felt for him, her professionalism would never permit her to cross the line beyond friendship. And however hard that had been for him to accept at first, he'd done so and he respected her choice. Hell, he knew he wasn't worth jeopardizing her career over. He'd have thought she'd be pleased that he was seeing someone, that it would ease the awkwardness that occasionally rose between them - no more tentative suggestions that they go for a drink after work for her to politely turn down, no more invitations to his cabin for her to decline. 

This was what she wanted. 

And yet looking at her now, he wondered. She seemed...angry. It was the only word for it. The question was whether or not it had anything to do with him seeing Tasha. But he'd made a fool of himself enough times with Carter not to want to risk jumping to that assumption, and he certainly wasn't going to ask her about it just to have her give him that polite, slightly apologetic smile and tell him that she was pissed off because her naquada reactor had just   
exploded. No, there was probably some other reason, something totally unconnected with him or.... 

The doors to the elevator slid open. Carter cast him a sideways glance and stepped inside, still silent. They were alone. Together. Jack could feel the tension mount as the doors slid   
closed, until at the last moment Sam slammed her hand on the button and they swished back open again. "Sorry," she muttered, "I left something in my lab." And with that she was gone, hurrying back down the corridor without a backward glance. 

The doors slid shut again before she had turned the corner, cutting off his view of her as the elevator hummed smoothly into motion. With a sigh, Jack leaned his head back against the wall. 

He was doing the right thing, he reminded himself. This is what she wanted, what was for the best for both of them. 

It was. 

*** 

Sam stood before the full length mirror in her bedroom and stared at herself. She was surrounded by clothes strewn across the bed and discarded angrily on the floor, none of them suitable. None of them making her feel even remotely attractive - she hated them all. 

"Well you have to wear something," she told herself crossly. 

"If I go," she retorted, glaring at her reflection. Even her hair wouldn't cooperate, making her look more like a boy then anything else. If only she could grow it a little longer, she thought, prodding the one bit that insisted on sticking up the wrong way. "Stupid regulations," she muttered, the words only leading her thoughts down an even darker path. 

Regulations. 

If she hadn't been bound by the wretched regulations who knew what might have happened all those months ago when she and Jack had been forced to voice the feelings they'd kept so secret. If only.... She closed her eyes against the image of herself in the mirror, sick of   
her pale face and too-wide eyes. Sick of feeling so crappy. God, there was nothing like being dumped to make a girl feel...like shit. 

"You haven't been dumped," she growled at herself, slumping down onto the bed amid the chaos of clothes. It was true, technically, but it sure as hell felt like it. One minute she'd been sharing a warm, affectionate smile with him, the next he'd been telling them all that he was involved with Tasha. Bastard. 

Her anger hadn't decreased over the weekend, in fact it had only hardened. She hadn't cried though, and she was fiercely proud of the fact. Wouldn't catch Sam Carter sniveling into her pillow like some heartbroken adolescent. No way. She had some pride left. And so slowly her hurt was freezing into anger - the emotions that raged in her heart without release were finding another vent. If she wouldn't cry, if she wouldn't give in to her sense of loss, then they'd find another method of expression. 

She'd loved him. Up until that moment, only two days earlier, she'd loved him - a quiet love, perhaps, an unspoken affection, but one so deep she'd never managed to fathom its depths. But now...? When she thought of how he'd told her, so carelessly and callously, she actually thought that she might hate him. And the strength of her anger mirrored the depth of the love he'd betrayed. She hated him. With a passion. She didn't care if he was happy, she was too angry to be reasonable. Screw his happiness - he certainly didn't give a damn about hers. 

And now she had to face him - and *her*. She had to make small talk and smile and be polite when all she wanted to do was yell, "Why don't you want me anymore? Why didn't you tell me about her?" 

"Bastard," she said out loud, opening her eyes and staring at the ceiling. "Stupid, arrogant son-of-a-bitch." 

If there had been any way to avoid going to Daniel's party, she'd have taken it in a second. But there wasn't, not without hurting Daniel. She'd even toyed with the idea of calling from the side of the freeway in the pretense that her car had broken down, but she'd known that someone would have offered to come rescue her. O'Neill, most probably. No, there was no avoiding it. She had to go. She had to smile and do the right thing, just like she'd done for the whole of her goddamn wretched life. She had to pretend that her heart wasn't aching, that she wasn't so hurt she wanted to cry or so angry she could have hit him. And then she'd have to go back to work, and see him every day knowing that the special connection she'd cherished so silently in her heart was gone and that he didn't want the tender feelings that even now fluttered inside her. 

"You can do it," she told herself firmly, sitting up again and staring at her face in the mirror. "You're strong. You've survived worse than this." 

Glancing around, she forced herself once more to think about what to wear. The dangerous side of her mind hinted at the short, tight- fitting black dress that she'd only worn once before. That would make him sit up and take notice! Either that, she thought with a grim smile, or she'd look like a desperate flirt. And besides, she thought wearily, she really didn't have the energy. After a moment she reached for her black jeans, a red t-shirt and her leather   
jacket. It was only Daniel's after all, and since she felt dull and unattractive she may as well dress the part. It wasn't like anyone would notice. 

With a sigh she pulled on her boots, made one final effort with her hair and dug around for a lipstick that vaguely matched the t-shirt without making her look like traffic lights stuck on red. Then, with a sigh, she picked up the small gift she'd bought for Daniel and headed for the door. 

It was going to be a long evening. 

*** 

Jack was nervous. It was ridiculous, since he'd never exactly been a shrinking violet when it came to parties, but this evening he was nervous. From Tasha's bedroom he heard the hairdryer buzzing and glanced down at his watch. It was already ten 'til seven and she was still drying her hair! They were going to be late. He hated being late. 

Getting up from the sofa he wandered around her cluttered living room, trying to quell his nerves. It was ridiculous to be this nervous. He was having dinner at Daniel's with his team and whoever else Daniel had invited. He was having dinner with his team and his girlfriend. He winced the moment the expression popped into his head. Girlfriend? Hardly that! Well, whatever the hell it was called in the twenty-first century when you were almost forty-five,   
Tasha was it. And she would be there tonight, with the rest of his team.... With Carter. 

He stopped his pacing and gazed out of her apartment window. His own reflection was ghostly against the city lights below, pensive. Carter. He was smart enough to know why the thought of Carter and Tasha in the same room was unsettling. His feelings for both women were more than a little ambiguous; he liked Tasha a lot. She was smart and funny and patient. Not to mention beautiful. And she was very open and easy to understand, she said exactly what she felt when she felt it. It made a very refreshing change. 

Carter, on the other hand.... He never really knew what she was thinking. No, that wasn't true. When they were working together he knew exactly where her mind was going, militarily they were almost always in sync. But on a personal level she'd look at him with that expression that was half-amusement and half-indulgence and he didn't have a clue what it meant. Sometimes he thought it might be pity, other times maybe affection. But she hid herself so effectively behind her military persona that he'd begun to think he didn't really   
know her at all. Not that it made any difference to the way he felt about her. He still cared about her, far more than was appropriate given both their professional relationship and the fact that he was involved with another woman. 

The thought made him uneasy and he looked away from his pale reflection, back into the room. He knew there was no romantic future for him and Carter and the sooner he got over her the better. And if Tasha could help him do that with her warmth, openness and unguarded affection then he'd be a fool to turn her away in favor of a hopeless dream. Wouldn't he? 

"Jack?" her voice from behind him startled him somewhat guiltily, but he managed to smother the emotion before he turned around and smiled. 

"You look great," he said, taking in her dark curls and elegant, understated dress. She was always so damn elegant it made him feel scruffy. He looked down at himself. "Am I letting you down?" 

Tasha smiled. "Daniel's your friend," she reminded him, moving closer and taking his hands. "But I think you look fine." Then she glanced at her watch and winced. "We're late," she said. "Sorry." 

Jack shrugged and reached for his jacket. "Doesn't matter," he assured her. "Daniel's never been on time in his life, he won't even notice." 

"This is going to be fun," Tasha said, slipping her hand into his as they headed for the door. "I can't wait to meet everyone." 

Jack just smiled, wishing that his own feelings on the subject weren't so confused - and that the army of butterflies stomping around his stomach would just take a seat. 

*** 

Given the short notice, Daniel had managed to pull together quite a little crowd, not all the faces familiar to Sam as she stepped into his living room. She spotted Janet immediately though, and made her way over to where she was pouring herself a drink at the makeshift bar. 

"Hey," Sam said, coming to stand at her side, "I wasn't sure you'd make it." 

Janet turned with a smile. "Well, neither was I," she agreed, "but the gods - and SG-8 - were kind to me so I got off early." 

"I'm glad," Sam replied earnestly, casting a wary glance around the room in search of Jack. 

"He's not here yet," Janet said, taking an innocent sip of her drink. 

With a frown Sam turned to pour herself a gin-and-tonic - she needed one. "Who isn't?" 

"You know who," Janet said. 

Sam glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. "You heard about his date?" she asked, trying not to sound too bitter. 

Janet nodded. "Daniel seems to think its pretty funny," she said. "He can't imagine how anyone as smart as Professor Greene could fall for the Colonel." 

"Huh," Sam replied, reaching for the tonic water. Just a splash. 

"I told him that he had no clue about women," Janet replied with a grin. "He agreed." 

Sam smiled at that and took a sip of her drink. "Whoa," she sighed - that was strong! "Just what I need." 

Janet gave her a shrewd look, then placed a hand on her arm and said, "Come on, let's talk." Leading her to a quiet corner of the room, she sat down and gestured Sam to follow. She obliged, finding herself relieved to have a little female company for once and suddenly knowing that she was in the mood to talk. "So," Janet said once they were settled, "how long's he been with the Prof?" 

Sam shrugged, sighed and sunk back in the deep armchair. "A few months, apparently." 

"Wow," Janet breathed, "and you didn't know?" 

"No." She shook her head and took another sip of her drink, feeling the alcohol start to work loose the tension in her muscles. "I can't believe he didn't say anything." 

"Maybe he didn't want to hurt you?" Janet suggested, although she didn't sound convinced. 

"Huh," Sam grunted, "if he cared about that he wouldn't be seeing Tasha, would he?" 

"Tasha?" Janet repeated. "That's her name?" 

"Yeah. Sounds like the kind of name you'd give a dog." 

Janet winced. "Careful Sam," she warned gently, "it's not her fault." 

"I know," Sam sighed, lowering her eyes. "It's just...I know it's not like we were involved or anything, but...there was something there. You know? I thought we had an understanding." 

"So did I," Janet nodded. "I know he cared about you, it was obvious." 

"Not anymore though," she replied glumly, swallowing another mouthful of her gin-and-tonic. 

Janet made no comment, just said, "So, you're pissed at him." 

"He came right out with it in the middle of the commissary," Sam replied, allowing a bubble of anger to rise to the surface. "Right in front of Daniel and Teal'c! I didn't know what to do.... I was so...." 

"Hurt?" 

"Yeah." 

"Bastard." 

"You said it." 

Sitting forward in her chair, Janet reached over and closed her hand over Sam's. "I'm sorry," she said. "You deserved more than this, Sam." 

Sam rolled her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. "I'll survive," she assured her friend. "It's not the first time I've been dumped." 

"Jack O'Neill's an idiot," Janet declared. "He doesn't know what he's passing up." 

But even now, despite her hurt and anger, Sam felt the need to defend him. "Come on," she said ruefully, "he's not passing anything up. There was never any chance for us. You know that." 

But Janet shook her head. "No such thing as never," she said firmly. 

"There is now," Sam pointed out with a sad smile, reaching for another sip of her drink only to discover that her glass was empty. "I need a refill," she decided. 

Janet smiled and knocked back the remains of her own drink. "Sounds good to me." 

As they made their way back to the bar, Daniel joined them with a wide smile. "Sam," he said, slightly tipsy and in a very good mood. He reached over and gave her a warm hug, "Glad you could make it." 

"Wouldn't miss it," she assured him, hugging him back and pecking him on the cheek. "Happy birthday." 

"Thanks," he replied merrily, leaning down to give Janet a hug too. 

"I thought we already said hello," she laughed, her voice muffled in his enthusiastic embrace. 

"I know!" he smiled, releasing her and glancing over her shoulder. "Oh, there's Jack," he exclaimed and rushed off to meet his friend. 

Sam's heart jolted painfully and her stomach tightened. This was it. She felt a small, reassuring touch on her arm from Janet but was unable to smile a response as she turned slowly around and followed Daniel with her eyes. Jack stood just inside the door, looking around the room with his usual poise, and at his side stood the woman who had to be Tasha. She was slim and elegant, her dark hair falling in bubbly curls down to her shoulders and her dusky oval face brightened by large eyes as dark as Jack's. "Oh God," Sam murmured half to herself and half to Janet, "she's beautiful." 

"Looks older than you," Janet replied after a moment, obviously unable to deny Sam's words and looking for a shred of comfort. Sam gave a thin smile, but took no comfort. Glancing down at her scruffy jeans and t-shirt she felt more like her adolescent tomboy self than she had in years. 

"I should have worn a dress," she muttered. 

"You look great," Janet assured her. 

Daniel reached Jack with enthusiasm, and treated him to a bear-hug that Jack accepted with relative good grace. Sam couldn't make out what they were saying, but Daniel was chatting enthusiastically to Tasha who was smiling and nodding in response. After a moment Daniel   
turned away and started to lead them back towards where Sam and Janet were still loitering at the bar. Impulsively Sam tried to move away, but Janet's hand was on her arm again. "Get it over with," she advised quietly. "You know you're gonna have to at some point." 

Sam nodded at the logic, but her stomach was twisting so tightly it was almost painful. Hurriedly she poured herself another drink, sloshing the gin as she filled her glass. This time there really was only room for a splash of tonic. 

"Sam, Janet," Daniel said, rather more soberly than before, and to Sam's extreme consternation she saw his eyes flick to her with an expression bordering on concern. God, did everyone know? "Look who I found." 

Sam managed a weak smile as Jack and Tasha joined them. "Hey," Jack said quietly, lacking his usual exuberance and looking more than a little awkward. "How are you?" 

"Good," Sam lied and heard Janet mutter something similar. 

Jack nodded almost as if he hadn't heard, and then turned to Tasha. "Um, Tasha, this is Carter and Doctor Fraiser." He spared them a hurried glance, "This is Natasha Greene." 

Janet did sterling work. With a broad smile she reached out her hand and said, "It's great to meet you Natasha. And call me Janet." 

Tasha shook her hand warmly. "Nice to meet you too," she replied with a wide smile and a flash of white teeth, before turning her attention on Sam. "You too, Major Carter," she said, offering her hand. "Jack's talked a lot about you." 

Sam took her hand, feeling something inside herself start to tremble as she realized that this was the woman...this was the woman who go to be everything she could never be. Got to do everything.... Okay, stop right there. "Nice to meet you," she replied, keeping her voice even and, she hoped, not too cold. "And it's Sam, not Carter." 

Tasha smiled. "So you're the one who keeps Jack on his toes all day?" 

She gave a little laugh, and flicked a quick glance at O'Neill. His eyes were already on her and for an instant their gaze locked, but the moment was so confused that she had no idea what he was thinking. "I, um, do my best," she replied inanely. 

"Tasha," Daniel jumped in then, "would you mind...? I just...I read the paper you published in the last edition of 'Athena Review', and, um, I had some thoughts...." 

Sam tuned out, relieved that Daniel had diverted the conversation, and turned back to the drinks. "Can I get anyone anything?" she asked over her shoulder, glad to be doing anything but talk to them. 

"I'll have a beer," Jack said, moving to stand at her side. "Tasha? White wine?" 

"Great, thanks." 

Wine. Okay. Sam reached for a glass and a bottle without thought, barely believing that she was standing there pouring drinks for Jack's date. More than a date - his girlfriend, partner, significant other...whatever. She started pouring, paying little attention to what she was doing as she began to plot her escape. Teal'c had to be here somewhere, she reasoned, she'd disappear and try to find him. Maybe hang out on the balcony for a while.... 

"Um, Carter?" Jack's quiet voice was at her ear. "White, not red." 

"Huh?" she mumbled, so on edge that his soft voice made her jump. 

"I think she wants white wine." 

"Oh," Sam said, nodding. "Right. I wasn't thinking." She reached for the bottle of white, but in her agitation managed to knock over the half-full glass of red, sending wine spilling across the table and dripping onto the carpet. "Shit!" 

"Whoa!" O'Neill exclaimed, grabbing a handful of napkins and dumping them on top of the spilled wine before more could reach the floor. 

"I got it," Sam muttered, angry at herself and highly embarrassed, her heightened emotions almost bringing tears of frustration to her eyes. But Jack didn't let go of the soggy mass of napkins when Sam reached for them and somehow their fingers got tangled together. The   
fleeting contact raced through her like an illicit high, arousing a fierce desire in the pit of her stomach and fueling an insane impulse to tighten her hold on his hand. Her fingers twitched around his in a gentle squeeze before she managed to pull her hand away, feeling her face flush with both desire and the confusion of the entire incident. God, what the hell was she doing? Tasha was right there! 

Next to her she heard Jack clear his throat. "You should pour some white wine on that," he said gruffly, nodding towards where the red wine had spilled on the carpet. "Stops it from staining." 

"Yeah," Sam muttered, and then glancing up at Daniel she winced. "Sorry Daniel, I'm such a klutz." 

He just shrugged. "These things happen. Should I open another bottle?" 

"I think there's plenty," Janet said, taking over wiping up the spill on the table while Sam dribbled white wine onto the floor. "Sam," she said after a moment, touching her lightly on the shoulder. "Why don't we find a cloth or something in the kitchen?" 

Sam looked up with huge gratitude as she and Janet shared a significant look. Escape. Thank God. And with that she rose to her feet, picked up the soggy napkins and fled into the kitchen, chased the whole way by a cacophony of confusing emotions. 

She'd touched him, she'd felt the warmth of his fingers against hers, and she'd wanted him so much it hurt. But he didn't want her, he wanted Tasha instead. And she hated him for that. So much it hurt. 

She hated him. 

She loved him. 

Oh God. 

*** 

Jack only half-listened to the conversation as Daniel and Tasha talked shop. Although he wasn't as disinterested as he sometimes made out, he really wasn't in the mood for their discussion. His thoughts were too distracted. And so he stood with them, sipping at his beer as his eyes turned, more often than not, towards the kitchen. 

He could see Carter in there, talking quietly to Janet. She'd found herself another drink and was knocking it back pretty fast. That surprised him, he'd never had Carter pegged as someone who drank much. She seemed too self-possessed to enjoy letting go like that, unlike him of course. Just another of the many differences between them. 

He sighed as he watched her leaning against the kitchen counter, talking while Janet fiddled with something in the sink. It wasn't often he got to see her out of her uniform, and he had to admit...wow. Black jeans that hugged all the right places, a t-shirt that did the same, her hair just tousled enough to make her look full of life. He was never really one for the sort of static beauty some women preferred, the kind that you were afraid to touch in case you spoiled their hair or creased their dress. But Carter.... 

"So," Tasha said at his side, slipping her arm through his. "Now I only need to meet Teal'c. Is he here?" 

"Um," Jack muttered, clearing his throat and turning his eyes hurriedly to her, "I haven't seen him...." 

"He's in my study," Daniel explained. "Doctor Bell was talking to him earlier, and they got into this whole cultural relativism thing....Teal'c's giving him the brief history of Jaffa culture. I think Steve's taking notes." 

Tasha glanced up at Jack and grinned. "You know," she said, "I have to say that does sound rather interesting. I know it's a terrible party-pooper thing to do, but...?" 

Jack smiled at her embarrassed enthusiasm. It was one of the things he liked about her. "Hey," he said, taking a step backwards, "if you wanna go listen to Teal'c talk about dead Jaffa, don't let me stop you. I'm happy with my...," he glanced at his beer, "...Bud for   
company." 

"Are you sure?" Tasha asked, searching his face. "You're not going to sulk?" 

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't sulk." 

"Huh!" she laughed, and over her shoulder Jack caught a glimpse of Daniel doing a poor job of repressing a grin. But Tasha softened her exclamation with a touch on his arm. "If you're sure?" 

"Sure," he replied, meaning it. 

She smiled and reached up to kiss him lightly on the lips. He felt oddly self-conscious with Daniel standing so close, but kissed her back nonetheless. As they moved apart he instinctively glanced towards the kitchen, just in time to see Carter's head turn sharply away and he knew she'd seen. And that bothered him. More than he'd anticipated. 

"Come and get me if I'm too long," Tasha called as Daniel started to lead her away. "And I mean that!" 

Jack just smiled and raised his beer in a farewell salute. But as he turned away his smile faded and he returned his attention to the kitchen. Carter was gone, nowhere in sight, but Janet remained busy in there - it looked like she was doing something with a stack of take-out pizza boxes. Jack grinned suddenly. Way to go Daniel, nothing like sophistication! 

Moving through the crowd he stepped into the kitchen. "Need a hand?" he asked Janet as she rummaged through a cupboard, searching for something. 

She turned and he caught a little frown before her face smoothed and she said, "Do you know where he'd keep anything like a serving platter?" 

Jack shrugged. "I know where he keeps the beer," he offered. And then, "What's wrong with those plates?" 

"Nothing," Janet muttered, "just thought they were too small." 

"I think we'll managed," Jack decided, pulling down a stack of plates and beginning to unload the pizza. "And here I was," he said smiling again, "thinking that Daniel was gonna cook." 

Janet returned a faint smile as she handed him another pizza box. "Life's too short, Colonel," she told him. "Personally, I haven't cooked in ten years." Her tone was light but there was a   
tension behind her voice that was unusual, a hardness that he rarely saw in her. 

"You okay, Doc?" he asked, glancing at her as he continued to pile pizza onto one of the plates. "You seem a little on-edge." 

"Me?" she asked, spinning to face him with a flare of anger in her eyes. Her jaw clenched. "*I'm* fine, sir," she replied carefully, swallowing the emotion and turning back to what she was doing. Her face grew impassive. 

Jack licked his lips and glanced around the kitchen. They were alone. "Um...what?" he asked, knowing he wasn't getting the full picture. 

Her eyes flashed darkly again and she picked up a loaded plate of pizza to take out for Daniel's guests. "It's none of my business, sir," she told him, her intent scrutiny not far short of a glare. 

"Probably not," Jack agreed, picking up his beer and taking a nervous sip. "Why don't you tell me anyway?" 

Janet said nothing but watched him carefully. After a moment she said, "Go ask Sam." 

He stared, not entirely surprised. "Carter?" 

"Talk to her, Colonel," Janet said. "And try not to make her feel any worse than she already does." 

And with that she pushed passed him and out into the living room, leaving Jack bewildered in her wake. 

*** 

The evening air was cool, almost cold. But the alcohol that burned down Sam's throat gave her a false immunity to the chill and let her mind drift distractedly over the glittering lights of the city. Their garish light drowned out that of the stars, flickering in all colors, accompanied by the occasional wail of a police car or honk of a horn. A whole city full of people, and here she was so very alone. 

It had been a long time - years - since she'd felt this lonely. There was a unique bite to rejection that added a sharp edge to everything. Sam had no qualms about being alone, she never had. But that was very different to being lonely, especially the bitter loneliness she felt this evening. Going from meaning so much to someone that they were willing to die for you to being...less than that, carried with it a unique sense of isolation. She'd gone from being part of something, albeit unspoken and barely acknowledged, to being entirely on her own. Her feelings for Jack remained powerful, although they trembled now between love and loss. But whatever else they were, one horrible fact was as clear as the night sky - they were unrequited and unwanted. 

The realization was so sad she could have cried. She almost wished she was the sort of woman who would. But she wasn't. Instead she took another sip of her way-too-large gin-and-tonic and sighed out her frustration into the still, cold air. 

"It's a beautiful night," a voice said from behind her, startling her. It was Jack. 

Sam didn't turn around, didn't move. "Yes, sir." 

There was a pause, and then, "Whatcha doing out here alone?" 

Sam felt her throat tighten at the genuine concern she heard in his quiet voice. Damn him. Why did he have to talk to her like that? Why did he have so sound so gentle? It always made her feel so.... She closed her eyes to regain her composure. "I just felt like being alone for a while," she said, hoping he'd take her words as a hint. 

Typically, he didn't. Or, more likely, he simply chose to ignore it. Jack took a step closer. "You look sad," he said bluntly, coming to stand at her side. "What's up?" 

"Nothing," she replied, the overused lie springing automatically to her lips as every muscle in her body began a slow, painful tensing until she was so taught she was afraid she might snap. "I'm fine." 

Jack nodded. She could see the gesture out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't turn her head. "I, um," he began quietly, "I hope...." He cleared his throat and turned to face her, leaning his arm against the balcony rail. "Look, Carter...I may be way off the mark here, but.... This doesn't have anything to do with me and Tasha, does it?" 

Not a muscle moved. Not even an eyelid. "No, sir." 

"No, sir," he repeated quietly. "Well...I'm glad. So what is it? You've been acting kinda weird since Friday. Did I do something? You seem pissed." 

Still she didn't move other than to raise her glass to her lips and take another hefty swallow. She was feeling the effects of her three - or was it four? - very strong drinks. But she wasn't tipsy or mellow, although she could feel some barriers of restraint begin to fall - or perhaps her anger was simply demolishing them. But she wasn't out of control. In fact she'd never felt more controlled as she slowly said, "I wish you'd told me, that's all." 

"Told you what?" he asked curiously. 

"That you were seeing...someone," she explained, finding herself unable to speak the woman's name. How ridiculous was that? 

"Oh." 

Sam moved at last, turning her head to face him. Jack was frowning down at the beer in his hands. "That's it?" she asked bitterly. "Oh?" 

He looked up, still frowning. "I...," he began uneasily, "I...didn't....I mean, it kinda developed so slowly that I didn't...think...." 

"Right," Sam interrupted, snapping her head back to glare out over the city. 

"It's not like anyone else knew before I told you guys," he added rather defensively. "You're the first people I told." 

Sam shook her head, breathless with astonishment at how little he understood her feelings. "I meant," she said in a carefully controlled voice, refusing to give in to her fierce sense of betrayal, "I meant that I wish you'd told *me* - just me." Her eyes flashed to his face and she saw him flinch at the anger he must have seen, and in that moment she didn't care. "Didn't I deserve that much consideration?" 

He was obviously taken aback. "I thought you'd be pleased," he stammered. 

Pleased? She stared at his confused face through a haze of alcohol. Pleased? Pleased that he was seeing someone else? Pleased that he was happy...? A niggle of shame twisted in her gut, prompting reason to assert itself through the gin. He was right. If she cared about him at all she should be pleased that he'd found someone to make him happy. It wasn't as if *she* could ever do it. Not in this reality. Shame turned quickly to a remorse that washed over her in a thick, stifling wave. "I'm sorry," she said abruptly, looking away and out over the cityscape. "I am pleased for you," she added, saying the words he deserved to hear and wishing she could actually mean them. "I guess I was just surprised." 

"Yeah, well, me too," he muttered. Then he took a step closer, "Look, Carter," he said quietly, "I hope I didn't.... I mean...God, I'm crap at this." 

She glanced over at him then, almost provoked to smile by his honest   
confession. But the familiar surge of affection she felt for him was painful, and instead of a smile she felt a lump rise in her throat and had to look away. "You don't owe me an explanation," she said wearily. 

"I know," he agreed. "But...I hope I didn't upset you, or anything. Hurt you. I'd never want to do that." 

This time Sam did smile, although the expression felt bitter. "Right. Sure." 

"I mean it," he said touching her lightly on the arm to try and get her to face him again. She resisted. 

"It doesn't matter," she replied, refusing the gentle pressure on her arm. 

"It does if I hurt you, Sam," he said, the use of her name only heightening the pain. "I didn't think you felt...." 

She moved away, unwilling to let him finish. "We should go inside," she interrupted him, "Daniel will wonder where we are." 

But he moved to block her. "No he won't, he's in the middle of some anthropological ...thing." 

Sam blinked, her eyes caught by his at last. Dark, deep and serious he watched her with genuine, if guarded, emotion. It wasn't the first time he'd looked at her like that, but on every other occasion she'd managed to keep from losing herself in the shared moment. This time though, with the alcohol impeding her judgement, she was less confident of her self-control. "Please," she said quietly, "let's just forget about this." 

"About what?" 

"Everything," she replied incoherently. 

"Sam...?" 

"Please," she muttered, pushing her way past him. 

But he wouldn't let her leave, reaching out and taking her arm firmly. "No," he said, holding her in place. "We can't just forget this, Carter. We need to sort it out. We need to...." 

"No we don't!" she snapped, turning on him. "We don't need to do anything - we've never done anything before, so why now?" 

"Carter," he said carefully, still holding her arm. "We still have to work together. That's not gonna happen if you're pissed at me over this." 

Sam felt her anger bubbling close to the surface. "Oh, so it's a team issue now, is it?" 

"It's always been a team issue," he pointed out, his stone-cold-sober gaze pinning her in place. "That's the whole point, isn't it?" 

She held his gaze in silence as his fingers still gripped her arm tightly. "Fine," she said at last. "You want me to fake it for the sake of the team? I can do that, sir." She forced a bright grin that she knew must look sickly. "I'm fine, sir. Happy as a clam." 

"I don't want you to fake anything," he objected. 

"Then what?" 

He paused, still staring at her. "I don't understand why you're so mad. Can't we just be friends?" he asked tentatively. "Like before?" 

Friends? "Just good friends?" she suggested bitterly. "I don't think so, sir." 

"Why not?" 

She looked away, pulling her arm from his loosening grip and hugging herself tightly. "Because we've never been friends, sir." 

"Sure we have," he replied nervously. "I mean, I thought we had...." 

"Then you've been kidding yourself." 

"I don't think so." 

Sam shrugged. "We've never been friends," she repeated, venting a childish need to hurt him back if she could. "And we can't be now." 

His reply was intrepid, if apprehensive. "Why not?" 

"Because I don't want to be your friend," she said quietly. "I never have." 

Jack said nothing, but she saw a moment of shock in his eyes before he hung his head. "I see." 

She doubted that he did see, but wasn't about to explain. Her feelings for him were too complicated and deep to ever be encompassed by something as simple as friendship. He obviously felt differently and the last thing Sam wanted to do was point up the difference. He'd moved on, but she knew it would be a long time before she could conquer her own heart so thoroughly. "I'm sorry," she muttered, not entirely sure for what. 

"Me too," he murmured, his head still lowered and his gaze fixed somewhere near his feet. He didn't move as she headed past him, didn't look up and didn't speak. She glanced back once before she left the balcony, to see that he'd moved towards the edge and was standing there staring out over the city. His face was only visible in profile, impassive and hard. Sam shivered. If it were possible, she felt even worse than she had before. Something had just broken, she realized, something that had bound them together for so long - a trust, a mutual understanding. A friendship. And the hole its destruction left in her soul was so deep she was afraid it might consume her entirely. 

*** 

The drive back to her apartment was silent. Tasha glanced a couple of times at Jack, but his eyes were fixed on the road as he drove and she could tell by the tense set of his jaw that he wasn't in the mood for talking. She repressed an irritated sigh and thought back over the evening. All in all it had been fun, and she'd enjoyed Daniel Jackson's company quite a lot. The man was brilliant, if a little eccentric. And the Jaffa, Teal'c, had been a real eye-opener. She'd kill for a chance to visit his home planet. What had he called it? Chulak? 

"Jack?" she asked quietly, ignoring the twitch of irritation that flickered over his face at her interruption of his brooding. "Does Teal'c ever visit Chulak?" 

"Not often," he replied. "He's not exactly popular there." 

Damn. That was that, then. She lapsed back into silence, but their brief conversation seemed to have reminded Jack of the need to talk and after a moment he spoke, with considerable effort, she suspected. "Liked him, did you?" 

"Teal'c?" she smiled. "Yeah. Jaffa society is fascinating. Do you ever talk to him about it?" 

"Not much." 

Big surprise. "It wouldn't hurt you to," she said quietly. "He's got more to teach than weapons and tactics." 

"I know that." 

Tasha sighed and thought for a moment, looking for a subject that might open him up. She wasn't sure why, but he'd fallen into one of his tight-lipped silences halfway through the evening and nothing she'd done or said since had come close to breaking open the shell. "Major Carter seemed...nice," she tried. 

Jack said nothing. 

Her mind wandered to a suspicion that had entered into her head during the evening. "Is there something going on between her and Daniel?" she asked curiously. "She was all over him when we left." 

"They're friends," Jack replied stiffly. "That's all." 

"Really?" Tasha pressed, sure she was onto something. "She was sitting awfully close, practically in his lap...." 

"She was drunk," he snapped, swerving out into the next lane to get around the car ahead. 

"No kidding," Tasha agreed with a small laugh. "I thought only under-grads got that drunk at other people's parties!" 

A flicker of emotion touched his face and the car accelerated again. "She had a bad day." 

"Right," Tasha replied, glancing over at the speedometer. He was driving fast. Very fast. "Um, are we in a hurry?" 

Jack frowned, still irritated. "What?" 

"You're doing over ninety-five." 

He eased up immediately and slowed the car. "Sorry," he muttered, although he still sounded more tense than sorry. Tasha bit her tongue. She'd had a taste of this side of Jack O'Neill before and knew he was best left alone. Part of her thought his brooding was dark and mysterious, but mostly she sighed at its adolescence. At last he pulled off the freeway and into her quiet neighborhood, slowing and stopping outside her building. 

She glanced over at him. "Are you coming in?" 

He turned to look at her at last, a hint of apology softening his dark features. "No. Sorry. We're off-world tomorrow, briefing at oh-seven-hundred. I'm gonna sleep on base." 

Tasha nodded. "Okay," she said, leaning over to kiss him goodnight. "Be careful, won't you?" 

"Always," he assured her, kissing her lightly in response. But before she pulled away he reached over and took her hand. "Sorry," he muttered. "I've been kinda... distracted this evening." 

"Yeah," Tasha agreed. "Anything you want to talk about?" 

He shook his head. "No." 

"Okay," she shrugged, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze before climbing out of the car. "Goodnight Jack. And have a good trip." 

"You betcha," he replied with a thin smile. And then he was gone, disappearing into the night. Tasha sighed and shook her head, not entirely sure if she was attracted or wearied by his dark, volatile moods. 

*** 

Jack drove to the base slowly, the tension subsiding now that Tasha was no longer in the car and his need for solitude was at last fulfilled. It gave him space to think back in painful detail over his conversation with Carter and to try and understand exactly what had happened. 

She'd been angry that he hadn't told her about Tasha, which had surprised him, but when he'd gone on to reassure her of his friendship she'd thrown it right back in his face. He didn't think he'd ever forget the icy tone of voice in which she'd said, "I don't want to be your friend. I never have." 

And since he knew for sure that she didn't want anything more than friendship, what else did it leave? Nothing. 

Gradually the tension that had haunted him all evening transformed into a black sense of loss. It was probably the emotion with which he was most familiar. Loss. Bereavement. Grief. Separation. He'd had his fare share, more than his fare share if he was honest, but fate didn't seem to care much for fairness because it had taken one more precious thing from him. 

'Because I don't want to be your friend. I never have.' 

It had taken away his faith. If there was one thing he'd come to believe in over the years they'd served together it was that Carter would always be there, at his side, fighting the fight - his comrade in arms and his friend. Above all else, that's what she'd been. Above the chemistry, the attraction, and the deepening emotions, she'd been there as his rock in the chaos that so often overtook them. Carter, he'd trusted more than anything. His Carter. His   
friend. Or so he'd thought. 

Of course, he had always suspected that she didn't return his feelings, not really. There'd been an attraction for sure, an enjoyment of their subtly flirtatious relationship, but she'd never wanted to pursue it further. Not that they could have gone very far, given their professional relationship, but Carter hadn't even been willing to push the bounds of the envelope even as far as a quiet drink after work. But despite that, he thought they'd been friends. He knew she didn't really approve of his feelings for her, but he'd never thought she didn't approve of him! 

It was late by the time Jack pulled up at the checkpoint and flashed his ID. He parked in his favorite spot, next to the elevator, but he didn't get out of his car immediately. Leaning back in his seat he sighed, wondering exactly why Carter had been so angry. It didn't make sense that she was jealous. She was the one, after all, who'd insisted that the whole mess be locked away: 'None of this needs to leave this room,' she'd said - almost the first words out of her mouth after his painful, forced confession. So what did she have to be jealous about? 

A nasty suspicion crept darkly into his mind as he stared out at the darkened parking lot. What if his feelings for her had given her a sense of power over him? It had to have changed things for her to know that her CO would have laid down his life for her, and not because he had to but because he would have rather died than lose her. What if she'd enjoyed the sense of power that came with such knowledge? What if it was the loss of that apparent power that rankled her now? Maybe that was why she'd rejected his final offer of friendship. 

He scowled at the idea. He'd have never thought it possible for Carter to think like that, but his faith had been profoundly shaken. 

'I don't want to be your friend. I never have.' 

She didn't want his friendship, she certainly didn't want more than friendship, so what the hell did she want from him? Nothing, it seemed 

Feeling his hurt start to harden into anger, Jack pushed open the door of his truck and stalked towards the elevators to take him down to the SGC. She didn't want to be his friend? Fine. Then they wouldn't be friends. He'd be her CO and nothing more. He could do that. Hell, he could do that very, very well. 

She wouldn't know what hit her. 

*** 

Sam awoke with a thumping headache, driven from sleep by a desperate thirst and she stumbled along the dark hall from her bedroom to the bathroom to fill her glass. Again. God, she felt rough, so dried out she was practically desiccated, her stomach already empty of whatever alcohol hadn't made it into her blood stream, and her head pounding. 

She didn't dare turn on the light as she drank, and then refilled her glass for a second time, before retreating back to bed. But as she laid down wearily and slid under the covers she had a vague thought that she was meant to be somewhere, early, and peeled open an eye to stare at her alarm clock. It told her it was six-forty-two. 

She closed her eyes and tried to think where she was meant to be and when. But her head was throbbing hard, her stomach still writhing so unpleasantly that...shit! Her eyes flew open as the remains of her professionalism fought through the hangover. Mission briefing, oh-seven-thirty. She had forty-five minutes. Oh God. 

Flinging off the covers she struggled out of bed again, ignoring the pain in her head and the fact that her mouth tasted like cotton wool. Forty-five minutes to shower, dress, get to the base. At least there wouldn't be much traffic this time of day, but... SHIT! No car. Janet had driven her home and she'd left her car at Daniel's. Shit, shit, shit. 

Cab. 

Still wincing against her headache and nausea, Sam reached the phone and began to dial. The bleary voice that answered her didn't sound enthusiastic, but at least he promised that someone would be there in twenty minutes. With superhuman effort, Sam dived into the shower and almost fell into her uniform. She was still tying her boots when there was a sharp hoot from outside her house. She winced for the neighbors, but could have hugged the cab driver for getting there so soon. 

"Cheyenne Mountain Complex," she told him as she collapsed into the back seat of the car. Her wet hair was making the collar of her jacket damp, but at least she wouldn't be too late. Late, but not too late. 

Sinking her head back against the seat of the car her mind had space, for the first time since she'd crawled out of bed, to think. She felt flat and heartsick, but couldn't quite put her finger on why until she remembered her conversation with the Colonel the previous evening. He'd given her the tired old line about wanting to be 'just good friends' and she'd told him that she didn't want his friendship. Great. That would do wonders for their working relationship, let alone her self-respect. 

A small groan escaped from her lips. Why the hell had she said it? Why the hell had she even *had* that conversation? She should have just toughed it out and kept her feelings to herself - God, she was never drinking again. Never. 

*** 

General Hammond sat at the head of the briefing room table watching his flagship team in silence. Daniel was at the far end with his head in his hands and a tall glass of water at his side. Teal'c sat next to him as impassive as always, although Hammond thought he could detect a hint of humor in the man's eyes as he occasionally turned his gaze on the suffering Doctor Jackson. 

Opposite them both sat O'Neill, grim faced and tapping his pen nervously on the table-top, it's staccato patter the only noise in the room. He seemed tense, perhaps even angry. Hammond frowned and glanced down at his watch. It was oh-seven-forty-five. Carter was late. 

"We'll begin without Major Carter," Hammond decided at last, receiving a small nod of approval from O'Neill in response. "In her absence, Colonel," he continued, "perhaps you could give us a brief run-down of the mission objectives?" 

O'Neill cleared his throat and started shuffling through his papers. "Yes, sir," he said with a frown, "um...." 

"That won't be necessary, sir," Carter's voice said from the doorway as she hurried inside. "I'm sorry I'm late, sirs." 

"Got a good reason, Carter?" O'Neill said, his attention snapping up from his papers. 

Carter's face was already very pale, her eyes dark ringed. In fact, the General didn't think she looked well at all. O'Neill, however, seemed immune to any sympathy her appearance might generate and just watched her steadily, waiting for her answer. She grimaced but didn't flinch. "No, sir," she replied. "I overslept." 

He nodded slowly. "Over slept?" he asked. "Or just hung-over, Major?" 

Her lips tightened. "Both, sir." 

O'Neill glanced back towards Hammond, gathering up his papers and sliding them inside his folder. "Sir, recommend that this mission be delayed for twenty-four hours on the grounds that half my team," his gaze flicked over Carter to Daniel and back again, "are unfit for duty." 

Hammond's eyes followed his and he had no choice but to agree. The vagaries of Doctor Jackson's character made his condition explainable if not desirable. Major Carter, however, should have known better. He frowned. "Agreed, Colonel," he said, and then turned his eyes on Carter who still stood stiffly behind her chair, mortification evident on her pale face. She really did look rough. "Major," he said, "you're aware of the regulations regarding the consumption of alcohol within twenty-four hours of a duty shift?" 

Her pale face flushed slightly. "Yes sir, I am." 

He nodded. "Then don't let this happen again." 

"No, sir." 

"Very well," he said, irritated but apparently not as angry as O'Neill whose dark gaze was fixed on the tabletop. "Report back at oh-seven-thirty tomorrow so we can do this properly." 

"Yes, sir," Carter said stiffly. 

"General?" Jackson piped up from the end of the table. "I feel like I'm to blame here. It was my birthday yesterday and...." 

"Carter knows the rules," O'Neill said, slapping him down. "Don't you Major?" 

She squirmed. "Yes sir." 

"Yes sir," he mimicked, rising to his feet. "Go home, Carter," he said, barely looking at her, anger lacing every word. "And I expect you to take today as part of your annual leave entitlement, not sick leave. Understood?" 

Hammond was more than a little shocked by Jack's severity, yet he was well within his rights as her CO and Hammond wasn't about to interfere despite the way Carter's lips were pressed tightly together. She looked more hurt than angry and there was a catch in her voice as she quietly replied, "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. Sir." 

O'Neill didn't spare her a glance. "Dismissed," he said and she turned away, visibly shaken. But then, at the last moment, Jack gruffly added, "Make sure someone drives you home - you're probably still over the limit." 

"Yes sir," came the subdued response as Carter left the room, plunging it into silence. 

But not for long. Doctor Jackson's innate sense of justice had been tweaked. "What the hell was that?" he asked Jack, casting a slightly unsure glance towards Hammond. The General remained silent, allowing O'Neill to deal with his team as he saw fit. 

"That," O'Neill replied, looking up at last, "was discipline. Got a problem with it?" 

Jackson's mouth opened and closed for a moment before he said, "Well, yes. Actually. That was also Sam." 

"And?" 

He shrugged in the face of O'Neill's intransigence. "And...wasn't that a little harsh?" 

The Colonel's face was granite-hard. "You think I should let her turn up for duty so hung-over she looks like she's about to puke on the desk?" he snapped. "How the hell's she supposed to function off-world, in a crisis situation, if she's in that state?" 

Daniel's lips compressed into a thoughtful line. "Good point, but...." 

"Damn straight," O'Neill agreed, cutting him off. "And there are no buts, Daniel. No exceptions." With that he made to leave, but Hammond stopped him. 

"Colonel," he said, rising to his feet. "I have something I need to discuss with you. In my office." 

O'Neill froze, obviously suspecting that his harsh treatment of Carter was going to be questioned. He was wrong. "Yes, sir," came the curt reply as O'Neill turned on his heel and followed him into his office. 

As Hammond stood by the door, ready to close it, he saw Daniel Jackson rise slowly to his feet and pad thoughtfully from the now empty briefing room. Equally thoughtful, Hammond turned and came to sit behind his desk, waving O'Neill to a seat as he did so. 

"Sir, I know what you're going to say...," O'Neill began immediately. 

"I very much doubt that," Hammond interrupted, silencing the Colonel. And then, sliding a piece of paper across his desk he said, "I received this today." 

O'Neill took it and read it, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "Major Coburn's resigning?" 

"So it seems," Hammond said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. 

"Why?" he asked, glancing up with genuine curiosity. "He's what? Forty?" 

"Forty-two," Hammond nodded. "Apparently his wife got offered a new job overseas and he wants her to take it." 

Jack let out a low whistle. "That's devotion for you," he muttered. "He's gonna give up all this so his wife can...what? What does she do?" 

"Apparently she's an Environmental Scientist," Hammond told him. "Don't ask me what that means, because I'm not entirely sure - something to do with climate change." He sighed again, rubbing a hand over the top of his head, "Coburn said she had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and he didn't want her to miss it. They have two young children and he doesn't want the family to be split up." 

O'Neill nodded, more than a tinge of respect in his eyes. "Coburn's a good man," he said, returning the letter to Hammond's desk. "We'll miss him." 

"We will," the General agreed. "But you can see that it leaves us with a problem." 

Again O'Neill nodded, dark eyes astute. "We need a new CO for SG-2," he said, frowning as he considered the options. "Vorhiss is competent, Ferretti's been after a command for ages, Kennedy...well, okay maybe not Kennedy. How about...." 

"Major Carter?" Hammond butted in. 

O'Neill stopped dead for an instant, and then with a rise of an eyebrow he queried, "Carter? As in...Sam Carter?" 

"Do you think she's ready for command, Colonel?" Hammond asked bluntly, pulling Carter's hefty file in front of him. "Aside from this morning's uncharacteristic display of ill-judgement, that is." 

Jack looked away, brows lowered in thought or...alarm. Hammond wasn't sure which, and didn't really want to know. All he was interested in right now were the facts. "I, um," Jack began quietly, one hand beginning to tap nervously against his leg, "I...." He stopped and was silent for a long time before he at last looked up, face resolved. "I do," he said firmly. "She's ready. She'll make a fine team leader, sir." 

Hammond nodded. "I appreciate that you don't want to loose her from your team, Colonel," he said carefully, aware that there was rather more than professional respect clouding the picture in this case. 

But O'Neill's expression didn't waiver. "She's an integral member of my team, sir," he acknowledged, giving a carefully bland answer to a question that clearly cut too close to the bone. "We'll miss her, but she deserves this, sir. She's earned it." 

"Yes she has," Hammond agreed, "but I haven't made the decision yet. I wanted your opinion, as her CO, before I considered her for the post - there are many other able candidates and Major Carter is both young and somewhat inexperienced by comparison. But I recognize her formidable talents and appreciate your candor, Jack. Some COs wouldn't be so generous if they thought they'd lose a good second-in-command." 

O'Neill gave a faint smile. "So I suppose it's too late to tell you that she's incompetent, insubordinate, and doesn't bathe often enough?" 

Hammond ignored him, sensing the melancholy behind the Colonel's attempt at humor and deeming it wiser not to comment. "Please don't mention this to Major Carter, Colonel," he said instead. "I'll have made a decision by the time you return from G8K-139." 

"Yes sir," Jack replied, rising slowly to his feet. He was serious and thoughtful for a moment and made no immediate move to leave. "Sir?" he asked then, looking down into Hammond's face. 

"Colonel?" 

"If you choose Carter," he said, "I'd like to be the one to tell her." 

Hammond smiled at that. "Of course," he agreed. "It's your prerogative." 

"Thank you, sir," O'Neill replied with a smile that was obviously forced. "If there's nothing else....?" 

"That's all Colonel. You're dismissed." 

"Thank you, sir." 

"And Colonel?" 

"Sir?" 

"Whatever was bugging you in the briefing this morning? Sort it out." 

A self-conscious wince touched his face and he dipped his gaze. "Yes, sir." And with a final, tight smile he was gone, leaving Hammond alone with Carter's impressive file and a difficult decision ahead of him. 

*** 

It wasn't exactly a two day hangover, but as Sam traipsed through the soggy ground on G8K-139 she felt its last vestiges clinging muzzily to her mind. Not that she was unfit for duty, but her head still ached with a woolen dryness and her stomach recoiled queasily from food. She glanced up, watching the Colonel stride ahead of her across the barren terrain towards their rocky objective, his silent disapproval not having softened an inch since the icy dressing down she'd received the previous morning. 

She winced at the memory, not so much at O'Neill's harshness but at her own mortification. And with General Hammond there too! She marveled at her capacity for spontaneous acts of idiotic behavior. What the hell had possessed her to drink herself unconscious the night before a mission? Well, she knew the answer to that, but a little self-pity was hardly an excuse to act like a kid who'd broken into the drinks cabinet. By her age it was more than stupid to get that that drunk - it was downright embarrassing. A small groan escaped from her lips as she remembered the way the Colonel had watched her after their stilted and unpleasant conversation on the balcony. He hadn't said another word to her all evening, but it seemed that his eyes were always fixed in her direction and that the drunker she became the deeper the hauteur that spread across his face. What the hell must he think of her? 

"You okay?" The voice at her side belonged to Daniel, and she gave him a rueful smile. 

"I feel like an idiot," she admitted, casting a wary glance towards the Colonel. "It was so stupid!" 

Daniel shrugged. "Even you're allowed to be stupid from time to time," he assured her. 

But Sam rolled her eyes. "Tell that to the Colonel," she said bitterly. 

"Humph," was the only response she got and they trudged on together in silence for a while. The terrain that surrounded them was flat and featureless. A sharp, cold wind swept across the barren landscape, scudding fast-moving clouds before it and setting the sun blinking in and out. It felt like spring, Sam thought absently. That was one of the stranger things about gate travel, you could leave home in mid-summer, spend the day in the depths of winter, and return home to catch a long summer's evening. Weird. 

"You know," Daniel spoke again, still quiet and introspective, "don't you think Jack should be a little...I don't know, happier?" 

Sam frowned, guessing where the conversation was headed. "Why?" she answered reluctantly. 

"Well," Daniel mused, "he's got Natasha Greene to go home to at night, for a start. You'd think that would make him...happier. More relaxed." 

Really not wanting to dwell on what Jack might do at home, with Natasha Greene, that might relax him Sam just said, "I hadn't thought about it." 

"I mean, if anything," Daniel carried on, apparently oblivious to her lack of interest, "if anything he seems even more on-edge than normal. The way he chewed you out yesterday for being a little hung-over was...." 

"Justified," she finished for him, glancing over at his surprised face. "I wasn't a *little* hung over, Daniel. He was right - I wasn't fit for duty." She shook her head again, dislodging another muzzy ache. "I was an idiot. I'd have done the same thing in the Colonel's position." 

"Yeah, but come on," Daniel objected, his voice rising a little as he caught the scent of debate, "you guys are friends! And it's not like you make a habit of doing anything like that. In fact, I can't think of any time when you've ever done anything remotely out of line." 

Sam frowned at the image of herself. It was, she had to admit, true. At least, so it appeared. But Daniel had no idea how out of line her thoughts were, how out of line she'd been that night at his party. He had no idea. But O'Neill did. He knew it all and the cold disdain on his face each time he looked at her told her all she needed to know. "The Colonel and I aren't friends, Daniel," she pointed out quietly and calmly. More calmly than she felt. "We can't be, not given our respective ranks. We're colleagues. He's my CO and so has a duty to discip...." 

"That's just...bullshit!" Daniel laughed. 

"Shhh!" Sam hissed, afraid that O'Neill would overhear. "Daniel...you don't understand." 

He was shaking his head now, plodding along and doing his best to avoid the worst of the soggy ground. "I might not understand what it is to be 'military'," he said with a resigned sigh, "but I know friendship when I see it." 

Sam was silent. Daniel was right, of course. They had been friends, of a sort. Not the kind of friends who hung out together or chewed the fat over a cold beer. Theirs had been a uniquely reserved kind of friendship, as bound by the regulations as any other aspect of their relationship. They'd been the kind of friends who would have willingly laid down their lives for each other, but who couldn't go out and share a pizza incase the simple act was misconstrued. Strange friends. But now, she feared, even that was gone. Her selfish jealousy of Tasha had driven her to say too much, to say what should have remained unvoiced. 'I don't want to be your friend. I never have.' 

O'Neill had looked shocked, and she wasn't surprised. He knew, after all, what it was she did want - what it was she wanted to be to him. And he knew how wrong it was, doubly wrong now that he was involved with someone else. What had she been thinking? I don't want to be your friend, I want to be your lover. Please! Stupid, stupid woman.... She shook her head, humiliation washing over her again. She was never, ever drinking again in her entire life. Never losing control again. Never. Ever. 

"Carter?" The Colonel's cool tone jerked her head up guiltily, still flushed from her embarrassing memories. But her heightened color soon faded when she saw the distant look in his eyes as his gaze flickered briefly over her face before coming to rest on an object somewhere out in the distance. "Still with us, Carter?" 

"Yes, sir," she replied. 

He gave a brief nod. "How far did you say it was to the terminal moraine?" 

"Uh, about eleven klicks from the Stargate, sir," he replied, pulling out the MALP survey from her pocket. "Ten-point-eight," she confirmed. And then squinting out across the suddenly bright landscape she said, "Although I think that might be an underestimate." 

O'Neill pulled his sunglasses over his eyes and turned to face her, hidden now behind the dark glass. "Ya think?" he replied, the sharp edge in his voice not lost on her. 

Sam looked away, unusually uncertain around him. Normally she didn't put up with this kind of bullshit, but today her reprehensible behavior at Daniel's party was eating into her self-confidence. "I'm sorry, sir," she mumbled, gazing down at the survey and trying to figure out her error. "It looks like...yeah, it looks as though we might have mistaken this for the start of the glacial valley, whereas if fact...." 

"We, Major?" O'Neill interrupted. "*We* might have mistaken it?" 

Sam looked up. "Well, I...," she stammered. 

"Yeah," he snapped. "You. So, what's the revised estimate?" 

Sam glared back down at the survey, her sense of guilt beginning to soften under a growing sense of anger. Did he really have to be such a bastard? "I'd say twenty, sir," she told him, head up, chin sticking out belligerently. 

"Twenty," he repeated, his mouth a tight line of irritation. "Well, that'll take us over our twelve hour deadline." 

"Yes, sir," she agreed. 

Teal'c, who had been watching the discussion in silence up to that moment, chose to speak. "O'Neill," he began, "I will return to the Stargate and convey news of our delay to General Hammond." 

The Colonel nodded, turning to Teal'c. "Well, we gotta tell him," he agreed, "but that's a couple of hours each way. You won't get back here 'till after dark."

"I am not fatigued," Teal'c assured him. 

"I appreciate the offer," O'Neill replied, slapping him on the back in a gesture of forced bonhomie. "But really, why should you go? It's not your fault we underestimated the mission time, is it Major?" 

Sam's muscles were stiffening slowly, stretched tightly by anger and hurt. "No sir, it's not." 

The Colonel nodded. "Carter, go back to the gate. Tell Hammond we'll need forty-eight hours, then come find us. We'll keep going for another couple of hours then make camp." 

Her jaw clamped shut on her anger, preventing a response as she just stared at him in disbelief. His eyes were still hidden beneath his dark glasses as he regarded her impassively. He was ordering her on a six mile hike that would last well into the evening. So this was her punishment, was it? This was her punishment for letting her feelings get the better of her. Son-of-a-bitch. 

"Jack, you're kidding!" Daniel exclaimed while Sam's mind was racing. "You can't make her do that." 

"Keep out of it, Daniel," O'Neill snapped, turning away. 

"Ah. No, I don't think so," Daniel objected. "Just because Sam got a little drunk the other night doesn't give you the right...." 

Sam could see O'Neill's back stiffen in anger and decided to intervene. "Daniel, it's okay," she told him, placing a hand on his arm. "It's not that far. I'll be fine." 

"No," Daniel objected, "it's not right. Jack - you're being an ass. Just because...." 

"Daniel, shut up," Jack snapped, turning back around. "This has nothing to do with the other night. Carter screwed up, it's her job to fix the mistake. End of story." His gaze turned coldly back to her. "Still here?" 

Sam felt the anger flash across her face and hoped he saw it. "On my way, sir," she replied icily. And then, quietly to Daniel she murmured, "Save me some dinner." 

"Yeah," Daniel replied, casting a disgusted glance towards Jack. "We won't go too far from here," he promised, "even if I have to sprain my own ankle to stop him." 

Smiling faintly at the image Sam gave his arm a light squeeze and headed back the way they'd come, taking her punishment like a good little soldier. It was like being back in boot-camp! There was an up-side though, she decided as she trudged back towards the gate. She was beginning to think that Tasha Greene was welcome to him, lock, stock and barrel. 

*** 

Jack could feel Daniel's disapproving eyes boring into his back and at his side Teal'c's silence seemed equally cool. Not that it was always easy to tell with Teal'c, but somehow Jack knew. Either that or his conscience was pricking. 

Pricking? Try pounding with a jack-hammer. What the hell was he doing, sending Carter off on her own like some kind of tight-assed drill sergeant? Christ, didn't he have more self-respect? Apparently not. Apparently his anger was as brutal as ever, his tongue as sharp. It was easy to hate himself on days like this. 

"Okay, that's it. We're stopping." Daniel's outrage had breached the surface. Jack was surprised it had taken so long. 

Turning slowly Jack regarded his friend carefully, took in the angry flashing eyes and the steely determination. The clouds had covered the sky again and behind them the sun's light was beginning to fade into dusk. But Jack kept his sunglasses on nonetheless, hiding from his friend's anger. "Seems like as good a place as any," Jack agreed at last. 

Daniel barely acknowledged his words and set about the business of making camp. Teal'c moved to assist him, favoring O'Neill with a single withering glance as he passed. Jack held firm, his pride refusing to let them see his self-reproach. Dropping his pack to the ground he pulled out the small tent they'd share overnight, while above him a distant growl of thunder shuddered through the sky. Looking up he saw the bruised blues and yellows of a storm-front crouching low over the horizon - it looked as though it was right over the Stargate. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. 

"Looks like Sam's going to get wet," Daniel noted acidly. 

Jack said nothing, feeling awful. Abruptly he rose to his feet and strode a few meters from the camp before keying his radio. "Carter, come in." 

There was a hiss of static and then, "Carter here, sir." 

"Sit rep, Major." 

"About forty minutes out from the gate, sir," came the stiff reply. "Nothing to report." 

Jack winced at her tone and said, "You got rain there, Carter?" 

A hiss of static crackled over the radio in time with another clap of thunder. "...storm...," was all he heard. 

"Say again, Carter." 

"Thunderstorm, sir," she repeated and he could have sworn he could hear the raindrops pattering over her pack as she spoke. 

Jack was silent, wishing he had the guts to just apologize. But COs didn't apologize to their subordinates. That's the sort of thing friends did. And, as she'd made all too clear, she wasn't his friend. Never had been, never wanted to be. He cleared his throat and held down the button on his radio again. "Carter, when you get to the gate you might as well just go on home." 

There was a long silence as he waited for her reply. When it came her voice was shaking with some kind of repressed emotion. He was guessing fury. "Sir, are you dismissing me from the mission?" 

What? No! "Negative, Carter," he assured her. "Just thought you might want to dry out." 

Another pause before another burst of static crackle. "I'd rather complete the mission, sir." 

Of course she would. What had he been thinking? "Understood, Major," he replied, guilt twisting painfully in his stomach as he realized that she still had a good three and a half hour hike ahead of her. "Report in every thirty minutes." 

"Yes sir. Carter out." 

Jack didn't move for a long time, just gazed out over the darkening horizon. This was probably the single most unprofessional decision he'd made in the entire course of his career. He'd sent her back - alone - not out of necessity, not even out of some macho military need to prove his authority and to teach a wayward team-member a lesson. No, he'd sent her back because her final rejection had cut him so deeply he couldn't handle it and he was punishing her for it. He hadn't realized how essential her friendship had become to him until her words on Daniel's balcony had devastated him, and now he was taking it out on her in the worst, most unprofessional way possible. What the hell kind of a man was he, to treat her like that? To treat anyone like that? He shook his head. And this, he realized, was *exactly* why the frat regs existed - to prevent emotion from overwhelming reason and to stop this sort of irrational, vindictive.... God, if anything happened to her because of his stupid, adolescent, spiteful act he'd never be able to live with himself. And he wouldn't even want to try. 

*** 

By the time Carter saw the small flicker of flame in the darkness she was about ready to drop. It had taken her over five hours to get back from the gate as the torrential rain had turned the ground into a mire that sucked at her feet and slowed her progress almost literally to a crawl in some places. But she'd endured, her pride and determination not to be beaten driving her forward step by step until she saw the fire and knew that she was close. 

She saw movement close to the flame. A figure paced restlessly back and forth, while beyond the flames she saw the hunched forms of two others. The pacing figure stopped abruptly and at that moment her radio crackled into life. "Carter, where are you?" 

She heard concern behind his stiff exterior and for a moment her anger softened. But only for a moment. "About two-hundred meters, sir," she replied wearily, her aching feet and legs doing wonders to stiffen her self-righteous anger. 

The figure before the fire started moving again. "Roger that, Carter," he said over the radio. "Daniel's got a big bowl of...something ready for you. Hope you're hungry." 

Oh, so now he was going to joke? Dream on! "Thank you sir. Carter out." She released her hold on the button and turned the damn thing off, focusing her attention on her feet and trying to avoid tangling them in any more of the scrubby plant-life that seemed to exist for the sole purpose of tripping her up and landing her in the mud. 

And so it came as quite a surprise when she came face to face with a tall, solid Jaffa. "Jesus!" she jumped. 

"Major Carter," Teal'c rumbled. "May I assist you with your pack?" 

She grinned, glancing over his shoulder towards the camp no more than a hundred meters away now. "I'll make it," she assured him, feeling a perverse pride at completing the journey alone. 

Teal'c seemed to understand because he didn't press the issue as he fell in at her side. "You appear weary," he observed. "And...muddy." 

Glancing down, Sam grimaced. Muddy was probably an understatement. "Good job I packed a spare set of clothes," she agreed. "It's a quagmire back there. I hope it's dried out before we go back." 

"Indeed." 

Daniel rose to his feet as she entered the circle of firelight, a warm smile on his face. "Hey Sam," he said, moving towards her and helping her off with her pack. "God, you look tired." 

She just smiled at him and sighed with relief as the weight of her pack was lifted from her back. "Oh, that feels good," she breathed, flexing her shoulders. 

The Colonel had ceased his pacing and sat now on the other side of the fire, watching her silently. She glanced over at him once and gave a brief, cursory nod before returning her attention to Daniel. "So, what did you cook?" 

"Don't ask me," he replied, handing her a large, steaming bowl. "It's chicken...I think." 

"You think?" she asked, dropping wearily to the ground, heedless of the mud that coated her clothes, and lifting her fork to sniff at the meal. 

Daniel shrugged. "It's meant to be chicken but it kinda tastes like macaroni and cheese." 

Sam smiled at him and took a bite. It was warm and stodgy, which was all she cared about. She was ravenous and ate without pause until the bowl was empty, at which point she looked around for more. 

"Here," a voice said from opposite her. "Head's up." 

Just in time, Sam raised her hand to catch the candy bar O'Neill had thrown in her direction. Snickers. Her favorite. She frowned, his friendly gesture not sitting easily with her anger. "Thanks," she said after a moment. 

The Colonel nodded again. "So," he said in a voice that was only a ghost of his usual friendly banter. "What did Hammond have to say?" 

Sam smiled to herself. "That we have forty-eight hours, sir." 

"That's it?" 

She shrugged and slowly peeled the wrapper from her Snickers bar. "He also said, and I quote, sir, 'What the hell's Colonel O'Neill playing at sending you all the way back on your own, Major?'" 

O'Neill's face went very still. "I see." 

Sam shrugged. "I'm afraid I didn't have an answer for him, sir." 

At her side she heard Daniel snort softly, and glancing over at him they shared a smile. "I'm looking forward to the debrief," Daniel muttered. 

Sam chuckled a little, fatigue and the ambivalence of her emotions overwhelming her usual sense of decorum as she took another bite of Snickers. But her laughter died as she heard O'Neill climb to his feet. "Gonna check the perimeter," he mumbled, before he stalked out of the circle of firelight and disappeared into the relentless darkness. Sam watched him go, suddenly struck by a wave of weary sadness. Was this how it was going to be from now on? All the warmth gone, their friendship blowing like cold ashes in the wind? The candy stuck in her throat as she tried to swallow and she closed her eyes, pressing a hand over them. 

Daniel's warm hand came to rest on her shoulder. "Hey," he said gently. "Why don't you get some rest?" 

She nodded and pulled her hand away from her face. "I need to change," she said, looking down at her mud-caked clothes. "Mind if I snag the tent for a bit?" 

"Go ahead," he assured her, his eyes drifting out into the darkness. Sam followed his gaze, but could see nothing beyond the firelight. With a heavy sigh, she pulled her pack into the tent and began to change. When she was as clean as she was likely to get, she refastened her pack and shoved it back outside. 

"I'm done," she called quietly. 

Daniel turned with an absent nod. "Goodnight, Sam," he said as she crawled into her sleeping bag and curled up. 

"'Night," she breathed back, closing her eyes and hoping that sleep would take her somewhere silent and dreamless. Somewhere without anger, or guilt, or loss.... 

*** 

Sam wasn't sure how long she'd been sleeping when something roused her. She opened her eyes in the darkness, her ears automatically straining to hear whatever had woken her. Within the tent she heard Teal'c's slow, steady breathing and knew that he either slept or meditated. But Teal'c hadn't woken her. Her muscles were tense with that strange kind of unease that grips the body when it's pulled sharply from sleep, charged with some atavistic instinct for flight or fight. And as she listened she heard it again, the soft fall of boots walking past the tent. 

Sam opened her eyes and through the open flap of the tent she could see the small flames of the dying fire flickering in the darkness. Daniel sat close by, visible to her only in profile as he looked up suddenly as the footfalls slowed. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming back," Daniel said quietly. 

There was no answer, but as Sam watched the Colonel walked slowly into the dwindling circle of firelight and dropped to the ground on the other side of the fire, his face half-shadowed and half-lit by the flames. He said nothing, just stared into the fire. 

"Where've you been?" Daniel asked, his voice laced with a serious patience she was unused to hearing. But she smiled at his naive question. There was no way Jack would ever.... 

"Just walking." 

Oh. 

Daniel took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh. "So, you want to tell me what's going on?" he asked. 

Jack was silent but she could see painful emotions dancing over his face, as if he were looking for the right words to express himself. It surprised her. After a long, silent moment he quietly said, "Carter hates me." 

Sam felt the breath stop in her chest, his words stunning her where she lay silently watching. Carter hates me? 

"Huh," Daniel snorted, shifting a little and reaching for his ever-present coffee. "Well, after today she might. For a while." 

Jack shook his head, his eyes apparently transfixed by the dancing flames. "No. Not just today." 

"That's ridiculous," Daniel replied taking a sip. "Why would you think that? Sam...," he frowned down into his tin mug, "Sam cares about...all of us." 

Jack made no reply, his dark eyes shadowed under the peak of his cap. Lost deep in thought he picked up a stick and started poking at the burning wood, stirring up sparks that flew high into the night sky before their fire burned out. "Did Teal'c ever tell you what happened about the Zay'tarc thing?" he asked then, stunning Sam for a second time in the evening. 

Daniel was similarly affected, his coffee stopping dead halfway to his mouth. "Ah," he obfuscated, before more quietly adding, "actually, yes." 

Jack nodded as if he weren't remotely surprised. "He told you what I said?" 

"Yeah." 

"And what Carter said?" 

Sam's heart was racing, her muscles almost cramping with the effort of remaining so still and yet she was unwilling to move. The Zay'tarc testing? He was talking about the Zay'tarc testing? He'd never even mentioned it to her once in all the subsequent months. Not once. Ever. 

"Ah, what *Sam* said?" Daniel repeated, his coffee cup resuming its journey to his lips. "No. Not really." 

Jack nodded again, and then, reciting the words as if they were old and familiar, he said, "'In that moment I understood why he wouldn't leave me - it was terrifying.'" 

Daniel frowned and swallowed his coffee. "Pretty intense." 

"It was," Jack agreed. "And then, when it was over, you know what else she said?" 

"No." 

"'Sir, none of this needs to leave this room.'" Jack glanced up at last, his eyes catching the firelight as he looked over at Daniel. "She couldn't get out of there fast enough." 

He was right of course, she couldn't. Coming so close to everything she'd spent so long hiding had been tortuous, her longing just for a moment of genuine, shared comfort had been so fierce it had been painful. And then Jack had mentioned Martouf and the whole thing had exploded into chaos.... 

"Maybe she was embarrassed?" Daniel suggested quietly. 

A mental shrug flickered over Jack's face. "That's what I told myself," he replied. "I figured we were still okay. I tried to tell myself...," his voice crumbled a little and he cleared his throat. "I tried to tell myself that we were friends. Above all of it, that we were still friends." 

Her heart squeezed tightly, painfully as she felt the despair in his voice resonate deeply within herself. Friends...? A glimmer of understanding was flickering faintly in the back of her mind. Friends...? 

"I was wrong," Jack continued before Daniel had time to ask. "Oh, I tried," he added bitterly, the stick he was holding beginning to stab into the fire now. "I thought if we could just talk..." He shook his head. "A couple of times I suggested a drink after work, once a meal. Twice...." He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Twice I asked her to come up to my cabin with me. And every time, every single time she said 'no'." 

Sam's mind was spinning now. No? Well she had said no, but not because she didn't want to. Not because she didn't care. God, it that what he'd thought? 

"You were wrong?" Daniel queried. "About being friends?" 

Jack nodded silently, the hand holding the stick falling still at his side. "Didn't realize until the other night, at your place," he said quietly. "She told me we'd never been friends. That's she'd never wanted to be friends." 

Daniel frowned and Sam waited expectantly for him to point out how close they'd been, how she couldn't possibly have meant.... "She said that today too," he said softly. "That you couldn't be friends because of your ranks. I thought it was bull, but...." 

"She's right," Jack interrupted. "We're colleagues, not friends. That's how it has to be, but...." He stopped, his face crumpling into a sigh. "But it hurt, Daniel. To hear that from her. Even though I'm with Tasha now, it still hurt to hear it." 

Daniel's gaze was fixed on Jack, sympathy softening his face. "So that's why you were acting like such an ass today? Because she hurt you?" 

"Pretty damn unprofessional, huh?" Jack growled, throwing the stick he'd been toying with into the flames. "God," he sighed, straightening himself up a little, "I can't wait to get home." 

Sam's mind was so preoccupied with the realization that he'd totally misunderstood her that she didn't detect the shift in the conversation. She couldn't believe that he'd taken what she thought of as an expression of her desire for *more* than friendship as a total rejection. That her careful adherence to the regulations had been taken as a lack of interest. How the hell could he have gotten it so wrong? Was she really such an ice-queen that she'd driven him away entirely? Driven him into the arms of Tasha Greene? 

"So," Daniel said, hunching a little closer to the fire, "things going pretty well with Tasha, then?" 

Sam started at the question and for the first time since their conversation had begun, she closed her eyes. She didn't want to see Jack smile over thoughts of Tasha and to know that she'd taken the place in his heart that had once been hers. 

"Pretty well," she heard Jack say and could almost see the small, self-conscious smile on his lips. "It's nice to be...wanted, you know? It makes a change."

"Yeah," Daniel agreed almost wistfully. "It's nice to be needed." 

"Yeah. Needed. Wanted." He gave a gentle laugh. "It's been a long time. I'm kinda outa practice." 

"Tasha didn't seem to mind." 

"She's a very tolerant woman," Jack agreed. "And patient. Reminds me of Sara in some ways." 

Sara. Sam was beginning to feel sick as the dreadful realization dawned that she might have missed the boat entirely, and through nothing but her own, stupid up-tight fault. Tasha reminded him of Sara. His wife. The woman with whom he'd spent ten years of his life. The implications were obvious and terrifying - she could lose him entirely and forever. And all because she'd been so stuck on the regulations that she hadn't seen that he needed more than the occasional glance and the rare smile when she thought no one was looking. She'd taken his affection for granted and had done nothing to nurture it or to assure him of her own feelings. He'd worn his heart on his sleeve and she'd enjoyed basking in the warmth, but had been too scared to give anything back. Was it any surprise he'd sought solace in the arms of someone who gave a damn? 

She felt a surge of tears tighten her throat and was forced to turn away incase tears escaped her tightly shut eyes and she betrayed herself. But her movement must have distracted them for after another lengthy silence she heard Jack say, "Get some sleep Daniel. My watch." 

There was a rustling as Daniel rose to his feet. "'Night, Jack," he said quietly. 

"Yeah, 'night Daniel. And thanks." 

"Anytime," came the reply, closer now as Daniel started to worm his way into the tent. Sam rolled over, facing away from him and tried to swallow the emotions that rose in her throat and fluttered painfully in her heart. 

She'd driven Jack away. And he thought she hated him, thought she didn't even want his friendship. Oh God. She couldn't bare for him to think so ill of her, couldn't bare that he didn't know how much she'd cared and how much his silent, unspoken affection had meant to her. 

But what could she do now? He was with Tasha; Tasha made him happy. It was too late. It was all too late. 

*** 

It was a weary, sober SG-1 who made it back to the Stargate the following evening. The rain hadn't eased and the last leg of the journey had been thick with mud that clung clammily to their clothes as they stood expectantly before the 'gate, watching it spin. 

Teal'c stood behind the rest of his team, watching the silent drama unfold. Major Carter was in front of him at the side of O'Neill, surrounded by a silence made heavy by the tension in the air. He knew there were unspoken words between them that had to be uttered before the tension could be eased - O'Neill had to apologize for his behavior of the previous day, for a start. He did not apologize, however, and Teal'c found himself a little disappointed in his   
friend. The details of the conflict between his teammates was not known to him, and it was not in his nature to ask or to be curious about such personal matters. However, it saddened him to see them so ill at ease where once they had almost seemed as one. A soft sigh escaped his lips and as it did so he heard Major Carter speak. Her voice was taut, her light words forced through gritted teeth. 

"Pretty successful mission, sir," she said, flicking a hurried look in his direction before returning her attention to the Stargate. "The naquada in those glacial deposits will be a piece of cake to retrieve." 

"Yeah," O'Neill agreed quietly, his attention dipping to his toes. "Good job on that, Carter." 

Major Carter shrugged. "I didn't really do anything, sir. Just dumb luck." 

"I doubt 'dumb' had anything to do with it," O'Neill muttered, still staring at his boots. Carter looked at him again, a faint hope lighting her face, but when he didn't look up or say anymore the light faded into disappointment and she turned away in silence. 

Teal'c shook his head, this strange and unnatural tension disturbing him greatly. He was almost tempted to break his unspoken code and intervene when the Stargate burst into life and O'Neill hurried towards it, Major Carter trailing silently behind. 

At his side Teal'c heard a heavy sigh and looked over to see Daniel Jackson's gaze fixed in the same direction as his own. "There's nothing we can do," the archeologist said quietly, as if reading Teal'c's mind. 

"I concur," Teal'c replied. "But it is unlike Colonel O'Neill to allow his judgement to be so affected by personal...emotions. It is disturbing." 

"He's not a machine," Jackson said as O'Neill stepped through the shimmering event horizon and disappeared. "However much he'd like to be." 

Teal'c nodded in silence as he approached the gate. Daniel Jackson was correct, they none of them were machines, devoid of emotional motivation. However...something about this situation gave him a sharp sense of foreboding, one that he could not shake. 

*** 

Nervous didn't even begin to explain how Sam felt as she sat perched on the edge of a chair in the commissary, sipping at a cold glass of water. Her stomach was too tense for coffee, and even the water was making her feel slightly nauseous. At the other side of the room she could see Daniel and the Colonel talking quietly together, and Teal'c was just paying for his meal. The traditional post-mission gathering. She couldn't face it. She'd spent the day in an agony of misery, hoping to try and mend some fences with O'Neill. But her feeble advances had been met stonily, his barriers raised as high as they got. He'd barely looked at her, but whether it was from anger or his own sense of guilt at his unprofessional behavior of the previous day she didn't know. 

What she did know was that she'd come to a decision. He had to know. She couldn't bear that he thought she didn't care, and had never cared. And although he was with Tasha now, she was determined that at least he'd know the truth - however painful and humiliating it would be for her to speak it. But Sam Carter had never been a coward and she never shied away from her duty, be it personal or professional. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, deciding that she had no choice but to join her team in the ritual gathering. If she didn't, Daniel would come looking for her, full or concern and asking questions. And she wanted to keep this whole mess to herself as much as possible. Steeling herself, she picked up her glass and moved with heavy feet towards the table. Daniel had his back to her, but O'Neill was facing her and glanced up as she approached. She offered a nervous smile, but all he did was give a brief nod and return his attention to the remains of the meal on his plate. 

Sam swallowed hard and forced a lightness into her voice as she said, "Hi Daniel. Sir." 

"Hey Sam," Daniel smiled, moving his tray over to make room for hers. And then noticing that she didn't have one he frowned, "You're not eating?" 

"No. I'm... Later. I'll get something later." 

Daniel just nodded and shrugged. "So," he said, "I thought General Hammond's face was going to split in half he was grinning so hard when you told him about the naquada on G8K-139." 

Sam gave a faint smile. "He did seem pleased. It's gonna make a big difference to us. I'm amazed some Goa'uld hasn't stripped the planet already though." 

"Maybe it just slipped through the net?" Daniel suggested. "Even they can't be everywhere." 

"If they were to return," Teal'c's voice rumbled as he came to join them, "G8K-139 would become an object of conflict - they would fight us for it." 

"Bring 'em on!" O'Neill muttered, stabbing savagely at a French Fry. "We'll be waiting." 

Teal'c said nothing as he took his seat. Once he was comfortably settled he added, "A more prudent course of action would be to limit the knowledge of the riches on G8K-139 to those few who are required to know, in order to limit the chances of the Goa'uld re-discovering the planet." 

Sam was nodding, for a moment distracted from her pressing personal problems. "That's a good point, sir," she said, glancing over at O'Neill. "We should keep this to ourselves - need to know." 

The Colonel looked up at her from under his brow and gave a brief nod. "I'll mention it to Hammond," he agreed, before dropping his fork onto his plate and reaching for his can of Coke. "So," he said, lifting it half-heartedly, "to safe returns." 

"Safe returns," came the traditional response as they touched glasses and cans and took a sip. 

And then, after a silent moment O'Neill rose to his feet. "Hate to break up the party," he said, "but I gotta go. See ya." 

Sam's heart jolted into a sprint as she watched him pick up his tray. 

"Goodnight, Jack," Daniel called after him, obviously surprised by his abrupt departure. 

O'Neill made no response, seeming lost in thought as he dropped off his tray and headed for the door. Sam's eyes were fixed on him as she rose shakily to her feet. "Um," she muttered   
stupidly, "actually, I've got something I need to do myself, so I'll...." 

Daniel said nothing, but she could have sworn she saw him exchange a meaningful look with Teal'c. Grimacing, she patted Daniel on the shoulder in a silent farewell and hurriedly left. She hoped the Colonel would be heading for his office and bent her feet in that direction, trying not to think too hard about how she was going to say what had to be said. And refusing to even speculate on how O'Neill might respond. 

*** 

Easing himself into the chair behind his desk, Jack stared unseeing at the door, lost in thought. The last two days had been unbearable. He couldn't stand the tension that had grown between himself and Carter, and he hated what it had turned him into - a petty, boorish and unprofessional bully. He knew he had to deal with it, work out some way to handle it better or his team would fall apart. 

"God," he sighed, leaning his head back and pressing his hands over his eyes. "I should've seen this coming." From the very first time he'd felt his stomach turn-over when Carter grinned at him, this day had been inevitable. "Should've had her reassigned there and then," he told himself, and not for the first time. It had been hubris to think that he was somehow immune to the powerful emotions that had grown, almost daily, in his heart. That's why the regs were there, and it didn't matter a damn whether or not he acted on his feelings it was the *feelings* that were the problem. But his arrogance had so often been his downfall - he'd thought he could handle it, he'd thought he was above the rules. But not this time. 

He shook his head, disgusted with himself. And then, suddenly in need of comfort, he reached for the phone and dialed. After a couple of rings she answered, her voice bringing a relieved smile to his lips. 

"Tasha Greene." 

"Hey," he said, "it's me." 

"Jack!" She sounded pleased to see him, her enthusiasm warming his cold heart. "Where are you?" 

"On base right now, but I'm finished. You busy this evening?" 

There was a fizzle of static and he realized she must be driving. The only words he caught were, "...on my way?" 

"Are you using that damn thing while you're driving?" he asked, an edge of genuine irritation mingling with the humor. 

"Don't nag!" she protested with a laugh. "Now, do you want Chinese or not?" 

Jack smiled. "Chinese sounds good," he said. "You gonna pick it up?" 

"That's what I said," Tasha replied. "I'm in traffic right now - it'll be about an hour from here. That okay?" 

"Great," he nodded. "I'm outa here right now, so I'll see you then." 

"Don't be late!" she warned. "I don't want to have to sit outside your house in the cold 'till you get home." 

"I'll be there," he assured her, wondering if maybe he should give her a key. It would be logical, given the amount of time they were spending together, but something inside him hung back from the idea. He liked his privacy, he reasoned, and had gotten used to being alone these past five years. It was too soon to give it up. 

"Jack?" Tasha's voice was quieter now, more serious. "I missed you." 

"Yeah," he replied, softening his own voice, "me too." 

A sharp rap on his door broke into their intimate exchange and he frowned, really not in the mood for a delay. "I gotta go," he explained. "But I'll see you at twenty-hundred. Okay?" 

"Sure," Tasha agreed wryly, "if that means eight o'clock." 

"Eight o'clock," Jack confirmed with a small smile. "Drive carefully - and turn your damn cell-phone off before you kill someone. Or yourself!" 

His answer was dead air as she promptly did as he'd asked...or rather, ordered. He grimaced. Damn, he wouldn't hear the end of that. Tasha had a thing about him giving her orders, or at least what she considered to be orders. Jack smiled slightly. She had no idea what a real order sounded like - and she'd probably explode from outrage if he showed her! 

The rap on the door came again, a little more hesitant this time, and with a deep sigh he straightened his shoulders and called, "Come in!" This better be quick! 

To his surprise, Carter opened the door and stepped inside. "Sir?" she asked, sounding very uneasy. "Do you have a moment?" 

Her eyes were wide and anxious and he felt his heart soften a little. Frowning, he cursed himself for his weakness and muttered, "I have *a* moment." The words came out more harshly than he'd intended, his anger towards himself expressing itself in his voice. 

Carter grimaced at his tone, but her lips tightened with resolve and she nodded. "Thank you, sir, this won't take long." Turning around then, she surprised him by closing the door to his office. For a long moment she paused with her back to him, her hand resting on the door handle. And then, when she turned around, Major Carter was gone. In her place stood a very unsure, unhappy woman. His heart jolted in concern and he had to fight the sudden impulse to go to her. He was glad his desk separated them. 

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, genuinely affected by her anxiety. Unconsciously he leaned forward onto his desk and looked up at her. "What's going on?" 

Carter nodded, her hands clasped behind her back as she came to parade rest - and suddenly the Major was back. Her gaze was fixed on something on the wall behind his head, her shoulders straight. Only her eyes betrayed her - wide, dark and nervous. "Sir, I want to apologize," she began, "for reporting to duty in that...state. It was unprofessional and I...." 

"Already forgotten, Carter," he assured her, somewhat relieved that it was nothing more serious. His own unprofessional behavior of the previous day was needling his conscience and he knew he owed her an apology too. But the words stuck in his throat, her rejection was still too raw to let him eat humble pie. 

Carter nodded in response. "Thank you, sir." 

"Well, if that's all...?" Jack began, pushing himself to his feet and trying to ignore the nagging voice of his conscience. 

"No," Carter said in a thin, dry voice. "There's something else too, sir." 

Catching the genuine sense of dread in her tone he sat down slowly. "Oh." His stomach tightened into a knot as he waited for her to speak, afraid of what he might hear but unable even to hazard a guess at what it might be. 

Carter swallowed, her tongue running over her lips, her back ramrod straight. "Sir," she began and then shook her head, frowning. "Sir, I...." Taking a deep breath she ran her fingers through her short hair and tried again. "Sir - what I said that night, at Daniel's, about not wanting to be friends?" 

Jack froze. He hadn't expected this. "What about it?" 

"I didn't mean it," she said quietly. And then, frowning again, she said, "Well, I did mean it but not in the sense...." The hand that raked through her hair was shaking, and when she spoke her voice was thick. "Sir, what I meant was that I couldn't be your friend because I wanted...." Her eyes dropped to the floor, studying her boots. "Because I felt more than friendship. More than I should." 

More? Jack could say nothing, barely allowing himself to comprehend her. More as in...? Oh God, did she mean...? 

"I realize," Carter hurried on when he didn't respond, "that it's not appropriate for me to say this, sir. But I didn't want you to think that I didn't...care. Or that I'd never felt.... I'm sorry," she sighed, glaring down at the floor, "this is so difficult." 

Jack's mouth was dry, his head spinning and his breath short. Still sitting at his desk, staring up at her, he was floundering in a confusion of emotions. "Carter...," he began, but trailed off helplessly. "I don't know what to say." 

She nodded, eyes still hooded and down-turned. "That's okay," she assured him quietly. "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know, that's all." And then she looked up, her expressive eyes brimming with emotion as their gaze locked. "The feelings you had, sir, were so important to me. Knowing that you cared meant...a lot. And I just want you to know that I feel the same," she flushed slightly and stammered, "...felt the same. I meant 'felt'." 

"But...," he fumbled, stumbling over his words, "but I...you...." 

"It's okay," she assured him wearily, looking away again, "I don't expect this to change anything. I just wanted you to now, that's all. I didn't want you to think that I hated you...." 

Hated? He closed his eyes, shocked as realization dawned. "You were awake," he said quietly. "You heard me talking to Daniel." 

A flush stole across her face. "I didn't mean to, sir," she whispered. "But...yes I was." If it was possible she seemed even more anguished as she looked up into his eyes again, her face unusually open and honest. "Colonel - how could you think that I didn't care...?" 

He winced, suddenly awkward. "You didn't seem to," he muttered, feeling stupid in the face of her emotionally charged confession. Stupid and more than a little confused. She was telling him everything he'd wanted to hear, and yet it made no difference. The regulations were still firmly between them - and so was Tasha. 

"Because I wouldn't go up to your cabin with you?" she demanded, and he could detect an acerbic undertone to her quiet words. "How could I have gone, Colonel? You know how it would have looked - especially in light of the zay'tarc thing." 

He nodded. "I guess." 

"Look," she said more firmly, shaking her head as the familiar Carter began to reassert herself, "it's all irrelevant now anyway. You're with someone and I'm...happy that you're happy." She gave a dismissive snort. "It's not like *this* was ever going anywhere anyway." 

He knew she was speaking the truth but couldn't help sighing as he said, "No, I guess it wasn't." 

Sam nodded, edging back towards the door, clearly eager to escape. "I...um," she began. "I hope that this won't affect our working relationship, sir," she said. "I can assure you that nothing will change on my part." 

Jack stood up, moving slowly around his desk towards her. "I'm sure it won't, Carter," he replied carefully, watching her and trying to quell the fluttering in his heart as he let his gaze wonder over her soft, familiar face. She'd cared? All this time, she'd cared? Deep   
inside he felt something fracture, some barrier that held at bay everything he'd spent so long repressing and denying. She'd shared his feelings, and maybe still did. Oh God. Suddenly he was seized by an irrational but potent desire to pull her into his arms and just hold her there until everything was right between them. But that was as impossible as it had ever been and all he could do, all he permitted himself to do, was say, "I think I owe you an apology, Carter - for yesterday. I was way out of line." 

"It's okay," she assured him, offering the first real smile he'd seen from her in days. "I understand." 

He said nothing, caught by the expression in her bright eyes - it was unusually open, as if she wanted him to see the truth behind her words. And as he stood there, melting into her gaze, the world stopped and all he could hear was the uneven thudding of his heart. He was staring right into her soul and everything was there, everything she felt was in that one, long shared look. He was left breathless at the depth of her tenderness, her compassion, and, most bitterly, her hurt. Hurt that he'd inflicted because he was seeing Tasha, "God, Sam," he whispered, "I never meant to hurt you. I swear." 

She nodded, tears standing unshed in her eyes. "I never meant to hurt you either." 

Reaching out slowly, as if his arm moved through water, he stepped forward and took her hand lightly in his. "Are we gonna be okay?" he asked - the question was absurdly important to him. 

Her answering smile was shaky, but determined. "If I have anything to do with it, sir, yes we are." 

Fleetingly her fingers squeezed his before she pulled away. "I should go." 

"Yeah," he agreed, remembering suddenly that he was meant to be heading home to meet Tasha. 

"Unless...?" she added, all of a sudden tentative and almost shy. "Unless you wanted to, maybe, get a drink or something - as friends?" 

Crap. He knew what she was doing. She was taking a step, making one of the self-same offers he'd made to her. The ones she'd always, always turned down. "I...," he began, struggling to think of a way he could say yes. 

Sam was faster. "It's okay," she said abruptly, flushing again and smiling a strained smile. "You probably have plans." 

"Well, actually....." 

"Right," she nodded and turned away. "'Night, sir," she said, not turning around again. "Have a good evening." 

And with that she fled, leaving him alone. But only for a moment. He didn't want to screw this up, it was too important. He'd call Tasha, tell her something, anything, but he had to do this. He had to make sure things were okay between them. Jerking into motion he flung open his door just in time to see Carter disappear around the turn in the corridor. Her name was on his lips and he'd just opened his mouth to call her when another voice echoed down the corridor behind him. 

"Colonel O'Neill!" Hammond. 

Jack slowed, agonized. 

"I'm glad I caught you." 

Turning stiffly he attempted a smile. "Sir?" 

The General saw right through it. "I can see you're in a hurry," he said smiling, his eyes twinkling. "This won't take long." 

"Oh?" 

Hammond nodded towards Jack's office. "Let's step inside," he suggested. "This is about Major Carter - I've reached a decision regarding the new CO for SG-2." 

Jack's heart stopped. Shit. The perfect end to a perfect day. 

*** 

Steam swirled up from his mug, condensing momentarily on his glasses as Daniel took a sip of hot coffee. He hated these early-morning briefings and still hadn't really understood why they had to start at seven-thirty. He wondered if it was some military bravado thing, to keep recalcitrant officers from spending too much time in bed. 

Probably. He wouldn't put anything past the Air Force. 

Taking another sip he gave up on the paper he was reading - one of Natasha Greene's as it happened - and decided that his brain just wasn't designed to function before ten. Stifling a yawn he glanced across the table at where Sam sat next to Teal'c. She was quieter than usual, thoughtful as she doodled absently on the papers before them, her chin resting in her hand. Daniel glanced briefly at Teal'c, who gave an almost imperceptible shrug. Something had happened. The tension and grating anger of the past couple of days seemed to be gone, but in its place was an odd sort of pensiveness that was unusual for her. 

Daniel checked his watch. The meeting wasn't due to start for a couple more minutes. There was still time. "So," he said, striving for nonchalance, "did you talk to Jack yesterday?" 

The pen in Sam's hand stopped moving. "What?" she asked. 

"Did he apologize for being an ass?" Daniel clarified. 

A faint smile touched Sam's lips and she lifted her gaze to his. "Yeah, actually," she replied. "He did." 

"Good," Daniel nodded. "So...?" 

"So...? What?" 

"Is everything okay?" 

She shrugged. "Sure. Everything's fine, Daniel." 

He wasn't entirely convinced. There was something about her pale face and the bluish tint beneath her eyes that spoke of sleeplessness, but his skeptical response was forestalled by the door opening. 

"Morning, campers," came Jack's gravelly voice. But his tone lacked its usual humor, sounding more apprehensive than cheerful. 

Still watching Sam, Daniel noted the way her eyes flicked hesitantly to Jack before dropping away. But he could tell nothing from her carefully neutral expression. 

Jack took his seat at Daniel's side, shuffling his papers nervously on the desk before glancing towards the General's empty chair. "Where's Hammond?" he asked irritably. 

"Right here, Colonel," came the response from the door to the General's office. 

Jack smiled tensely. "And right on time too, sir." 

Hammond ignored the comment, taking his seat with his usual lack of fuss. "Before we start the briefing," he said, calling the meeting to order, "we have some other business to attend to." He smiled slightly and turned to Jack, "Colonel?" 

Jack's answering smile was devoid of pleasure and looked more like a grimace. "Yes sir," he began, clearing his throat and shuffling through his papers. "Well, it seems that Major Coburn has decided to part company with the USAF and is off to sunnier climes for a while." 

"Coburn?" Daniel repeated. "SG-2?" 

Jack nodded tersely. "Yup." And then, shifting awkwardly in his seat, he continued. "So, it's my...pleasure...to announce that, in recognition of her undoubted abilities, the command of SG-2 is to be given to...our own Major Carter." 

A stunned silence hit the room. Sam's eyes were wide but more with shock than happiness, and she sat bolt upright in her chair staring at Jack with a look that bordered on dismay. He just gave a small, helpless shrug and said, "Congratulations, Major. Your first command." 

"I...," she stammered, giving Daniel enough time to drag some appropriate words into his head. 

"Yeah," he said into the unhappy room, "congratulations. This is...," he glance at Jack, "kind of a shock, actually." 

Hammond stirred, obviously anticipating the somewhat ambiguous reaction from his flagship team. "I know that you'll all be sad to lose Major Carter from SG-1," he said seriously, "but it's my duty to help develop all my staff and, after discussion with Colonel O'Neill, we felt this was the right time to give Major Carter her own team." 

"Sir," Sam said then, turning her attention towards the General. "I... Thank you, sir. But...are you sure...? I mean," her eyes were flickering towards Jack again. "Why now?" 

There was a subtext to that question, Daniel had no doubt, because Jack almost jumped. "No reason," he said hurriedly. "Coburn's going - his wife has a job overseas. It's just...timing." Hammond frowned, clearly as confused as Daniel by Jack's not-quite-coherent statement. Sam just nodded, but didn't look happy. 

"Major Carter," Teal'c rumbled, "are you not pleased by this news? Command is the objective of every warrior." 

She smiled a little at that, but the smile was uncertain. "I am pleased," she assured him, and the rest of the room. "I'm just...shocked. I didn't expect this." 

At his side, Daniel heard Jack's quiet sigh, "Who did?" 

After another uneasy silence, General Hammond spoke again. "Coburn will be leaving at the end of the week, Major," he said. "SG-2's yours with immediate effect." He offered her a small smile. "I have every faith in your abilities, Major. And in Colonel O'Neill's high opinion of you. You'll do a fine job." 

Sam just nodded and said, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." 

"And now," Hammond continued, "let's start the briefing - you can stay Major, although by the time this mission takes place you'll be leading SG-2." 

For a moment, Daniel saw a flash of utter devastation cross Sam's face. And to a certain extent he shared it. She was leaving them. After all this time together, she was leaving them. He couldn't imagine SG-1 without Sam. He didn't even want to try. Perhaps it was selfish, but he didn't want her to leave, career or no career. And from the looks of things, she felt pretty much the same. 

*** 

General Hammond's voice burbled in the distance, punctuated occasionally by others - Teal'c, Daniel. O'Neill. 

Sam barely heard, the only thing her mind seemed capable of processing was the idea that she was off the team. Gone. Dumped. She closed her eyes, feeling a thick lump rise in her throat. She had no illusions as to why. Her stupid, stupid confession of the previous day had to be the reason. The Colonel must have taken the whole mess to Hammond, who'd eventually done what he should have done years ago - split them up. Obviously Jack had felt too uncomfortable working with her now, maybe because of Tasha, maybe because she'd made it so damn obvious that she still had feelings for him. Either way, he'd dumped her first chance he could get. Off the team. Gone. 

"Major?" Hammond asked then, interrupting the downward-plunging whirl of her thoughts. "Could you discuss that with Lieutenant Hébert?" 

She nodded mutely and noted the name down on the paper in front of her, utterly unaware of what she was meant to be discussing with the man. And caring even less. Next to the enormity of the morning's news, the whole world seemed trivial. She could hardly believe that she wouldn't be going out with her team anymore, that Teal'c and Daniel wouldn't be at her side - that O'Neill wouldn't be leading them forward. It felt so wrong. And although, at the back of her mind, the thought of her own command sent out little puffs of pride, it was nothing compared with the devastation of losing SG-1. They were like family to her. 

Or so she'd thought. But, after edging her out of his heart, it seemed that O'Neill couldn't get her out of his life fast enough. She closed her eyes, mortified to feel tears stinging behind her eyelids. She wouldn't cry. She hadn't cried once since all this had started and she wouldn't now, not in front of her friends and the General. 

At last the endless-seeming meeting crawled to a close. No one said much as Hammond rose to his feet, dismissing them with a curt nod before he left the room. Sam followed him as fast as she could, unable to face talking to her team - her ex-team - while her feelings were in such disarray. She needed some distance and time to deal with this before she could.... 

"Carter! Wait up!" She closed her eyes and slowed her pace. O'Neill. Of course. 

Slowly she turned to face him as he caught up with her. "Colonel?" 

"You okay?" he asked quietly, in that damn gentle voice that always squeezed her heart. 

Her throat was tight with emotions so close to the surface that she could feel them slipping from her control. Okay? Was she okay? Hell, no! She blinked hurriedly against tears and tried to swallow, but she couldn't. Unable to speak she just nodded and looked away, her fingers clutching tightly around the slim file of papers she held. If he would just leave her alone to deal with it.... 

"Guess not," he said, sounding anxious. And then his hand was on her shoulder, pushing her gently towards one of the meeting rooms. She went mutely as he opened the door, flicked on the light-switch and guided her inside, out of view of any curious eyes. As he closed the door behind them, Sam turned her back to him and surreptitiously wiped at her eyes. God, this was ridiculous! 

"Bit of a shock, huh?" the Colonel said from behind her. 

She nodded, still struggling to find her voice. "I...," she began unevenly, "I guess it'll be easier this way." 

"Easier?" he repeated. "What do you mean?" 

"You know what I mean," she whispered back, damned if she was going to spell it out again after the previous evening. "You won't feel awkward now." 

His hand was on her shoulder again, spinning her sharply around. "Hey," he said firmly, "if you think this has anything to do with my personal feelings, Carter, you're wrong." 

"Oh, please," she replied, pulling out of his grasp and turning her face away. "I tell you how I feel and the next day - the very next day! - you reass me out of SG-1? Come on!" 

"That's not how it was," he growled angrily and out of the corner of her eyes she could see him shove his hands into his pocket and kick the toe of his boot angrily against the wall. "It wasn't my idea." 

"Huh," she snorted, relieved that her emotions were diverting into anger. That, at least, she could handle. "Damn good timing then." 

There was a long, charged silence broken only by the slow rhythmic thumping of O'Neill's boot against the wall. "Is that really what you think?" he asked at last, his voice more sad than angry. "That I'd want you off the team because of... what you said?" 

She didn't answer right away, less confident now of her initial assumption. "According to the regulations it would....." 

"Screw the regulations, Carter!" he snapped, wheeling on her. "Is that what you think of me? As a man? That I'd just throw you out because I...we...." He didn't finish, closing his eyes for a moment and shaking his head. "Shit," he hissed, running an exasperated hand through his hair. "You think I want to lose you?" He turned away, rubbing his hand over his face. "This is the last thing I want, Carter. I can't imagine SG-1 without you." 

He was breathing heavily, she could see it in the rise and fall of his chest. "You could have told Hammond I wasn't ready," she said quietly. "Kept the team together." 

Glaring at the floor he shook his head again. "Is that what you want?" he asked. "For me to lie?" He looked up for a moment but she couldn't meet his gaze. Of course it wasn't what she wanted, of course she didn't want him to treat her differently to anyone else in his command. And they both knew it. "I'd never do anything to get in the way of your career, Carter," he said, looking down again. "This is good for you and you know it." 

She watched him, saw the slump in his shoulders and realized that this parting would pain him more than she'd imagined. With a flutter of anguish she tentatively reached out to touch him. Jack turned around as her hand closed over his arm, his guarded face giving little away as he stared at her. But there was an ache in his eyes that made them look bruised, and beneath her fingers she felt muscles shift as his hand moved deliberately to clasp hers. But he said nothing as their fingers entwined, and neither did she. He was unhappy and hurting, she felt it as if it were her own pain. And perhaps it was; adrift in his dark eyes she was beginning to loose herself in him. "I don't want to go," she whispered. "I don't want to leave SG-1." 

"I know," he whispered back, not breaking their locked gaze as he gently tugged on her hand. With a thumping heart she took a hesitant step forward, transfixed by his intense eyes. They stood in silence, balanced on a knife edge and utterly absorbed in each other, until with a soft groan he pulled her roughly into his arms and crushed her against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head and his fingers tangling in her hair. "I'm going to miss you," he breathed close to her ear, "so much." 

His impassioned words ached in her heart and she hugged him tightly, letting her head sink slowly onto his shoulder. She felt all the impropriety of the moment, but for once she was unable to pull back; she wanted this, she wanted this comfort even for the briefest of moments. "Hold me," she whispered. "Please, just hold me." 

*** 

As Tasha heard Jack's jeep pull up outside her house she struck the match and lit the candle, the final touch to what she hoped would be a romantic dinner. Jack was late, of course, but that wasn't entirely unusual. She just hoped he wasn't in one of his dark, silent moods. Over the past month it seemed like he was down a whole lot more than he was up, as often as not his thoughts turned inward. One minute, it seemed he could be totally there for her, the next...it was like a light had gone out. 

Repressing a sigh she straightened up, blew out the match and smoothed down her dress. She liked to make an effort with her appearance - at her age, it showed if you let nature have its way. The doorbell rang once, a sharp jab that demanded immediate attention; Jack O'Neill rang the doorbell as though he were a barking an order. 

As soon as she opened the door her hopes began to fade. He looked rumpled and distracted - and he was still in uniform. "Hey," he said, leaning down and kissing her hurriedly. "Sorry I'm late." 

Tasha just smiled and stood back. "It's okay," she assured him, letting him pass before she closed the door. "Problems...?" 

Jack frowned and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Probably not," he muttered, glancing over at the carefully laid table. "One of our teams is a little overdue, that's all." He turned back to her with a small, weary smile. "It looks nice. You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble." 

Tasha smiled again, a little more thinly this time. "I wanted to," she assured him. "It's a special occasion." 

Jack groaned and dropped down onto her sofa. "Special?" he sighed. "I'm getting older, that's all." 

Unable to hold her tongue, Tasha flared up at that. "Fine!" she glared. "If you don't want to celebrate your birthday, why did you even bother coming over? Christ, Jack, after all the effort I've gone to, you...." 

He was on his feet in a second, full of contrition. "I'm sorry," he soothed her, pulling her into a hug. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's...just been a hell of a day and I'm kinda strung out. It looks great, really. And I do appreciate it." 

Her moment of anger passed as fast as it had erupted. "I know," she sighed, pulling slightly out of his grasp so that she could see his face. "It's just that you've been so withdrawn recently. I wish you'd tell me what's going on." 

"Nothing," he assured her, looking away as he spoke and dropping his arms from around her. "Things have just been difficult - without Carter - you know?"

Tasha nodded, taking his hand and leading him towards the table. He'd mentioned briefly that Carter had left his team a few weeks earlier and that he was having trouble finding a replacement. "Tell me," she said, pushing him down into a chair. "Tell me what's going on." Taking her seat opposite him, she offered him the spoon and with a tight smile he began to help himself to the food. At least he was hungry. 

"There's really nothing to tell," he assured her. "It just takes time to find the right guy. It's nothing I haven't done a million times before." 

He was probably right, but his words didn't explain the tension she saw between his brows or the melancholy buried deep in his eyes. "You miss her," she said quietly, watching him for a   
reaction. And she got one. 

Fingers tightened around the serving spoon, dark eyes flashed painfully; Tasha felt a wobble of doubt in her heart. "Yeah," Jack replied after a moment. "We all do. But she's having a great time with SG-2." His face softened slightly then, a distant look touching his eyes. "She's doing great. I'm proud of her." 

"That's nice," she replied, and began to serve herself. "So," she said, deciding to change the subject - Samantha Carter was one with which she was suddenly uncomfortable, "I spoke with General Hammond today." 

Jack glanced up, a fork raised halfway to his mouth. "What for?" 

She smiled slightly. "P3X-832." 

"Why?" 

Her smile broadened at his curiosity. "Because I want to go there," she replied. "Doctor Jackson sent me a copy of the preliminary survey results, and there's strong evidence of a pre-Babylonian culture. Ruins mostly, but more than we'd ever see on Earth. He asked if I was interested, and... I am!" 

"Nice of Daniel to mention it to me," Jack muttered, squirming on his chair suddenly and pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. He glared at it for a moment, as if willing it to ring, before setting it carefully beside his plate on the table. "What did Hammond say?" 

Excitement bubbled up and broadened her smile into a grin. "He said yes," she smiled. "He said he had to work out something...mission parameters I think he said... but that we could probably go some time in the next couple of weeks." 

Nodding, Jack stuffed another healthy fork full of food into his mouth. "I hear it's nice there, this time of year," he mumbled with his mouth full, until seeing what must have been a rather disapproving look on her face he sat up a little straighter and swallowed. "Sorry," he mumbled, "guess I forgot I'm not in the commissary." 

Tasha ran her eyes over his rumpled BDU's, "I can see why you might make that mistake," she replied, softening the reprimand with a smile. 

"Oh," Jack muttered, smoothing a hand over the front of his shirt. "I was waiting in the control room...kinda ran outa time." He looked up, "Sorry. And you went to all this effort," he said, reaching out and lightly touching her face. "You look beautiful, by the way. Probably should have said that earlier." 

"Probably," she agreed, his warm words doing much to help her overlook his weary and scruffy appearance. 

"It's just that I've been...." 

Bleep-bleep. Bleep-bleep. 

Jack's attention flashed away from her instantly as he snatched up his cell phone mid-sentence. "O'Neill," he said urgently, his fingers holding the phone so tightly that the tips turned white. There was a tense pause as he listened and then a smile broke out over his face, the first genuine grin she'd seen in days, and he blew out a sigh of relief. "Food poisoning?" he said at last, his smile lingering. "Yeah, I bet she did! ...No, don't. ...No. ....Yeah, thanks Daniel. ...I know she can. ...Yeah, I know. Thanks anyway. ...Yeah, I will. See ya. 'Bye." 

Relief flooded through his body and his smile still lingered as he thoughtfully put his cell phone back into his pocket. He looked...happy. 

"Was that Doctor Jackson?" Tasha asked lightly. 

"Huh?" He shook his head, breaking out of his thoughts. "Ah, Daniel.... Yeah, yeah it was. He said, 'Hi' by the way." 

She smiled faintly. "Something important?" she asked. "You seem relieved." 

Jack cleared his throat, returning his attention with more vigor to the meal she'd prepared. "You know," he said, "this is really great, Tash. What is it?" 

"Chicken Marsarla," she replied, "and don't change the subject." 

He didn't look up. "It really is great," he assured her, eating another mouthful. "And I wasn't changing the subject - it was just work stuff. The team that was overdue got home okay, that's all." Looking up with a grin he added, "But I really hate talking about work on my birthday." 

Catching his shifting mood, Tasha raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think you were in the mood to celebrate?" 

He shrugged and stood up, coming around the table to kneel at her side. "I am now," he assured her, leaning in and planting a soft, lingering kiss on her lips. "I feel far more relaxed...." 

"Now that your missing team's home?" she whispered against his cheek. Her only answer was an indistinct mumble as Jack's arms went around her waist and he pressed hot, insistent kisses against her neck. 

Tasha smiled, letting thought drift quietly away and relinquishing herself to the moment. Being with Jack was a constant surprise, one endless emotional roller-coaster. And she'd been through enough downs over the last few weeks that she decided it was about time to enjoyed the high. And from the sudden fervent passion that blazed in his urgent kisses, she knew that this was going to be a huge high. 

Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she wondered what it was that had changed his mood from dark to light in a matter of moments. And if she had her suspicions, she didn't dwell on them. He was here, right now and very much with her. 

That had to count for something. 

*** 

The infirmary was dark, lit only by the nightlight on the duty nurse's station. Creeping in quietly, Jack offered the woman a smile as she regarded him curiously. It was late. Way too late for visitors. 

"Colonel?" she asked, rising slowly to her feet. "Something I can help you with?" 

He stared. The lame excuses he'd come up with on the ride back from Tasha's fled his tired mind and all that remained stubbornly behind was the truth. "I heard SG-2 were brought in this evening," he said quietly, glancing down the silent infirmary to the two occupied beds. "They okay?" 

If the nurse considered it a strange question at almost three in the morning she'd been around the SGC long enough not to raise an eyebrow. "Yes, sir," she replied, picking up a couple of charts from her desk. "They were all suffering from a gastrointestinal infection - Phillips and Ferretti have been released to their quarter, Carter and Gibson are in overnight for observation." 

Jack nodded, throwing another look down the infirmary. "Mind if I go see?" he asked. "I'll be as quiet as a...very quiet mouse. Swear to God." 

She hesitated for a moment before obviously deciding it was more trouble than it was worth to argue with a Full Colonel. "A few minutes, sir," she told him firmly. "But there's no need to worry - they'll both be discharged in the morning." 

"Thanks," he smiled, turning and heading down the ward. His eyes sought out Carter hungrily, and it wasn't until he saw her familiar features resting peacefully in sleep that he felt the last of the tension crack and ease away. It was always like this. Each time she went out he felt as though he was holding his breath until she came back. It was an almost unconscious tension. It didn't preoccupy his thoughts the whole time but somewhere in the back of his mind a part of him was waiting, waiting, waiting. 

He slowed as he approached her bed. In the dim light her face seemed pale and the thin saline drip taped to the back of her hand glinted dully. But she was okay. Food poisoning, Daniel had said. Of all things! He smiled, anticipating the ribbing SG-2 were going to get for this one. Primarily from himself, no doubt. There was a chair by her bed so he eased himself slowly down into it, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. He was exhausted. It had been a crazy idea driving all the way over here at this time of night and Tasha had been none to pleased when he'd left. He didn't blame her, and felt a sharp stab of guilt at the memory of her disappointed face. 

"I thought you'd stay the night," she'd murmured as he'd climbed out of bed. "It's almost two in the morning!" 

He'd muttered something about his mission starting early, which was the truth. But he'd failed to convince her that it was better for him to drive back to base in the small hours of the morning rather than to just get up early. Tasha had been unhappy when he'd left, but he'd been unable to help himself. He'd just had to see Carter. 

Jack sighed, rubbed a hand over his face and wondered what the hell he was doing to himself. Tasha was great - smart, funny, beautiful. All the usual things. And yet here he was - having climbed out of her warm bed in the middle of the night - abandoning the woman he had for the woman he could never have. He shook his head; when had his life gotten this screwed up? 

He'd been euphoric when he'd heard that Carter's team had made it back in one piece - and he was somewhat ashamed of the way he'd swept Tasha up unknowingly into his little, private celebration - but as he'd lain in her arms afterwards all he could think about was that he   
wouldn't even get to see Carter before his next mission began. And he missed her, so very much. He'd just had to see her. He'd just had to. 

And so here he sat, in the middle of the night, feeling too old to be dealing with this kind of shit. Letting his head fall into his hands he sighed again and wondered if maybe Major Coburn had gotten it right after all.... Life was too short. 

"Colonel?" a sleepy voice whispered. 

His head jerked up. "Carter? You're meant to be asleep." He glanced warily over at the duty nurse and lowered his voice. "You trying to get me into trouble?" 

"What time is it?" she asked, lifting her wrist feebly and finding no watch there. 

Jack winced. "Oh-late-hundred," he told her. "Go back to sleep." 

"What are you doing here?" Her eyes were bright in the darkness and curious. 

"Nothin'" 

She smiled slightly at that, an unusually soft smile. "Oh." 

Edging a little closer and keeping his voice low, Jack added, "Just wanted to make sure you were okay - we're off to P3...whatever...in the morning." 

Her smile broadened and even in the darkness he could see it touch her eyes. "I'm fine, sir. At least I am now." 

"Rough?" he asked, seeing her eyes roll. 

"Highly recommended if you want to drop a couple of pounds, sir," she replied dryly. "I don't think there was a milligram of...anything...inside me my the time we made it back to the gate." 

He chuckled. "Reminds me of '631," he said with a grin. "Remember? I've never seen Daniel so green." 

Carter smiled at the memory, shaking her head slightly. And then her face sobered and she sighed quietly, "So you guys are heading out tomorrow?" 

"Yeah," he nodded, "first thing." 

"When are you back?" she asked. 

"Seventy-two hours. Well, that's the plan." 

Closing her eyes she sighed once more. "We're due out day after tomorrow," she said. "So I guess we'll cross again." 

"Yeah," he murmured, watching her serious face. "The schedule sucks." 

She nodded. "Next time we're all around," she said, rolling onto her side to face him, "maybe we can get together? Catch up?" 

"I'd like that," he replied. And then, glancing down at his hands clasped in his lap he muttered, "I miss you." 

"Me too." 

Looking up from beneath his brow he met her gaze, the emotions beating in his chest almost overpowering. What the hell was he playing at? He felt like he was juggling with fire, trying to keep too many things in the air at once - his feelings for Carter, his feelings for Tasha, his career, Carter's career, his relationship with his team, the fate of the whole goddamn planet.... Sooner or later something was going to crash and burn - maybe the whole damn thing. Maybe just himself. 

"I should go," he whispered, breaking the gaze and rising to his feet. "You need to sleep and so do I." 

Carter made no protest and rolled onto her back. "Good luck, sir," she said quietly. 

"Thanks," he nodded. And then, with a small grin added, "I'll be sure to stick to the MREs." 

Her answering smile was sleepy, and more affectionate than he was used to seeing. "You do that. And sir?" 

He paused at the end of her bed. "Carter?" 

"Happy Birthday." 

He looked at her for a long time, savoring the sight of her face and the way her lips curved towards a smile. "It is now," he murmured, giving voice to a truth he could never tell Tasha. And then, with a curt nod, he walked away. 

Juggling with fire, Jack. Juggling with goddamn fire.... 

*** 

It was quiet in the commissary, being too early for the breakfast rush, as Sam stood staring at the limited selection of Danishes. Her stomach really wasn't in the mood for food this early in the day, but every good soldier knew the value of a decent breakfast. Choosing the least sticky one she could find, she grabbed a coffee and headed for the closest seat. She dropped the slim briefing file onto the table as she sat down and glanced at her watch. Almost an hour until the briefing started - just enough time to read Daniel's report. 

She smiled as she slipped the paper from the file and took a sip of her coffee. Unlike O'Neill's or her own reports, Daniel's were written with the flourish of a polished writer, not the clipped formality of the military. There was an elegance to his style and a lightness of touch that made reading his reports a genuine pleasure. And it had been a pleasure she'd missed over the five weeks since she'd been CO of SG-2. Not that she wasn't enjoying the challenge - she was, thoroughly. But settling down to read Daniel's enthusiastic thesis on the long-dead inhabitants of P3X-832 provoked a feeling of warm nostalgia that made her doubly pleased she would be accompanying him on this next mission. 

"Mind if I join you?" 

Sam glanced up and smiled. "Colonel O'Neill. You're up early, sir." 

"Huh," he grimaced, taking a seat opposite her. He had never been a morning person. "Who's idea was it to have this briefing so early?" 

"That would be General Hammond, sir," she told him, catching his eye and seeing the humor there. 

He just nodded and took a mouthful of Fruit Loops. As he chewed he reached into his pocket and pulled out his own briefing file, rolled up into a tube to fit. Retrieving Daniel's report - now rather curly around the edges - he started reading. Sam smiled to herself, and picked up her Danish. Before she'd taken command of SG-2 she'd always sighed at the Colonel's habit of reading reports a minute or two before the briefing - sometimes during the briefing - putting it down to his somewhat eccentric personality. But now, with her own mountain of pre- and post-mission paperwork, strategic assessments, and personnel reviews, she understood him better. It wasn't carelessness, it was just a question of time management. 

Across the table, Jack sighed. "Daniel always makes these things sound like a text book," he complained, flicking through the report, obviously in search of the non-existent bullet points. Daniel *never* used bullet points. He glanced up at her. "Have you read it?" 

Sam poked at her own copy as she took a bite of Danish. "Just about to, sir." 

He grinned suddenly. "Carter! I thought you'd have been studying it for a week!" 

She shrugged. "I've been busy." 

"Yeah," he nodded, his voice softening from amusement to something warmer. "You recovered from the food poisoning?" 

Rolling her eyes, Sam nodded. "Yeah. We missed our last mission though. Did the General tell you? Gibson and I were off for a week." 

Taking another mouthful of Fruit Loops O'Neill nodded. "He mentioned it. Sounds pretty nasty. You sure you're okay?" 

"I'm fine," she assured him, touched by his concern. 

"You look a little pale," he said quietly, dropping his eyes to his bowl. "A little thinner....?" 

Sam watched him toy with the cereal floating in his bowl. He spoke as though he were embarrassed to be asking, as though his concern was somehow wrong. Sam sighed at the complexity of their situation, but all she said was, "I lost a few pounds, sir. But I'm okay now." She paused before adding, "And looking forward to our joint mission to... P3X-832," she read off Daniel's paper. 

"Me too," O'Neill agreed, glancing up at her with a sudden grin. "In fact I was...." 

"God! And I though the staff in the Senior Common Room were slow!" O'Neill froze momentarily and Sam's eyes slowly lifted until she saw Tasha Greene busying herself with unloading her tray on their table. What the hell was *she* doing here?! "I mean, how hard can it be to make a Café Latte?" 

Sam's eyes widened with wry amusement. Café Latte? In the commissary? To her surprise O'Neill glanced at her, his own eyes twinkling as they shared the silent joke. Out loud he said, "I'd stick with the regular coffee, if I were you." 

Tasha sat down next to him and shrugged. "I don't believe in compromises," she announced. And then glancing over at Sam she smiled. "Major Carter - nice to see you again." 

"You too," Sam replied, wondering if the blatant lie was going to make her nose start to grow. Still perplexed at how O'Neill's...girlfriend?...got to be on base she glanced over at him, but he was staring fixedly at his cereal bowl and offering no answers. 

"You know, the quarters here are surprisingly comfortable," Tasha said then, picking up her coffee and grimacing as she tasted it. "Even if the beds are rather narrow." 

Ridiculously, Sam felt herself flush. "Um, yeah I guess...they're not designed for two," she mumbled, picking up her own coffee and hiding her face a little as she sipped. She *really* wasn't interested in Tasha Greene's sleeping arrangements. The bed was rather narrow....? For crying out.... 

"Tasha was staying in the guest quarters," O'Neill said then. 

Sam's blush deepened. "Of course. I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to imply....." 

Doctor Greene laughed. "Jack threw me out," she said, apparently unaware of Sam's awkwardness. Her bubbly voice was loud in the deserted commissary, "Something about regulations...?" 

"Yeah," Sam muttered, politeness forcing her to raise her eyes to Tasha's face, "you're not really meant to share single quarters." 

Tasha shook her head and looked over at the Colonel. "How do you remember all these rules and regulations, Jack?" she asked. "I can't imagine letting other people tell me where - and with whom - I can sleep!" 

O'Neill frowned. "The regs are there for a good reason," he told her, flicking an almost imperceptible glance at Sam. "And it's my job to remember them." 

Chuckling, Tasha reached over and picked up a slice of toast from the Colonel's plate. "Well," she said, smiling at the surprised look on his face at her theft of his breakfast, "I hope I don't break too many rules on P3X-832." 

Sam's heart jolted painfully. "You're coming to P3X-832?" 

Tasha glanced over at her. "Yes. Didn't Jack tell you?" 

"No," Sam replied, forcing a smile. "The Colonel and I haven't seen each other for..." 

"...six..." he supplied. 

"...days," Sam finished. 

Tasha's smile turned a shade cooler and Sam thought she saw a flicker of suspicion in the woman's brown eyes as she glanced between Sam and O'Neill. "Well, Doctor Jackson invited me along, actually," she said. "If you'd actually read his report, you'd understand the contribution he thinks I can make." 

Sam bristled. 'If you'd actually read his report...?' Where the hell did she get off, talking to her like one of her under-grads! O'Neill had sat up straighter as Tasha spoke, looking uncomfortable as he frowned down at the tabletop. And for his sake, and his sake alone, Sam let it slide. "You're right," she said, forcing herself to sound amiable. "And if you'll excuse me, I'll go and finish reading Daniel's report right now." Standing up, she grabbed her coffee, "I'll see you both in the briefing." And then, to O'Neill, "Sir." 

He nodded, "Carter." But his face was angry, and for almost the first time since Sam had heard the name of Natasha Greene, she didn't envy the woman. She permitted herself a small, ungenerous smile as she left the commissary - one-nil to Carter! 

And then she stopped dead, cursing herself silently. "It's not a competition, Sam," she muttered as she jerked herself back into motion. "You're not even playing the same stupid game." 

*** 

"So," General Hammond said, winding up the meeting, "to recap - Colonel O'Neill will take command of the mission as a whole, but Major Carter will have primary responsibility for achieving the mission objectives." 

Jack nodded, glancing over at Carter where she sat with the rest of SG-2. She met his gaze with a small smile, and he felt his stomach tighten as his lips curved into a smile of his own. He couldn't help it. She looked so enthusiastic, so full of life.... His heart contracted as he watched her serious face listening earnestly to the General. God, he'd missed her these last few weeks - even more than he'd imagined. It was as if a light had been switched off and everything was that much duller, that much less interesting without her. It wasn't the same for Carter, of course. Sure, she missed her friends, but she had the new challenges and excitement of command to distract her. He remembered it vividly from his own past, when he'd striven every day for the next promotion, to prove his worth and to stretch himself just that little bit further. And then, to finally have his own team.... He'd been on a high for months. Until reality had struck home with a vengeance - and heavy ordinance. He'd spent a week writing letters to wives and mothers and by the end of it realized that the responsibility that came with command was a heavy, heavy burden to carry. 

But watching Carter now, still in the first flush of excitement, he remembered something of that youthful enthusiasm he'd once felt and realized how much he'd changed over the years. Not for the first time recently his thoughts turned towards Major Coburn. At first he'd been astonished that a man as committed as Coburn could just walk away from the SGC and from the weighty responsibilities they all shared. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that in the great scheme of things Coburn was just one man. Sure he was a good soldier, and sure he'd be missed. But he wasn't indispensable - none of them were. In the SGC Coburn could be replaced, already had been replaced. And the war carried on. But to his wife and family...? Nothing could replace Coburn to them. There he truly was indispensable. 

"...do you agree, Colonel O'Neill?" 

"Umm?" O'Neill glanced up at the General, embarrassed at letting his mind wander so far. "Sorry, sir. What?" 

Hammond's brow contracted in irritation. "I was discussing the lines of command during this joint mission, Colonel," he said. "I've decided that, given the personal nature of your relationship with Doctor Greene, she should report to Major Carter while off-world." 

Jack nodded, "Yes, sir," he said, catching sight of Tasha out of the corner of his eye. She was watching the proceedings with a wry twist to her mouth and an exasperated humor in her eyes that he didn't entirely enjoy. She didn't understand the military, not one bit. "That sounds like a good idea," he added for emphasis. And he meant it. The last thing he wanted to have to do was try and give Tasha orders. She was as stubborn and headstrong as himself and without a trace of military discipline to keep her in line. She caught his eye and smiled, shaking her head as if wondering what all the fuss was about. 

"And I'm sure Major Carter will look after our guest," Hammond smiled towards Tasha. 

"Thank you, General," Tasha replied, "but I hope I won't be too much of a burden. I may not be military, but I've been on a few expeditions in my time. I won't slow them down." 

Jack winced slightly at her assurances, knowing how they would sound to the hard-bitten ears of Carter's team. Glancing up, he saw Ferretti shoot a smiling look at Gibson, but they both knew that he and Tasha were involved so they keep their mouths shut. Carter didn't seem to be sharing the dark humor of her team, but her lips had straightened into a thin line betraying her unease to Jack's practiced eye. But she showed no other sign of discomfort with the situation. And she wouldn't, no matter how awkward she found it. Carter was nothing if not professional. It was one of the many things he admired about her. 

"Very well," Hammond said then, taking in the whole crowded meeting with one glance, "I'm giving you seventy-two hours on this one. Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter, have your teams ready to depart at twelve-hundred hours." 

"Yes sir," they replied in unison. 

Hammond nodded. "Dismissed." 

*** 

Waiting in the gate-room, her heavy pack resting comfortably on her shoulders, Sam fumed silently. It was bad enough that O'Neill was bringing his date on the mission, but she couldn't believe Hammond had stuck *her* with looking after the woman. She'd hoped to avoid   
her as much as possible, to keep her head down and try to forget that Tasha was the woman O'Neill had chosen over herself. But no, her virtuous plans had been well and truly squashed. Doctor Greene would be her own, personal responsibility for the entire three day   
mission. Argh! 

"The gear's stowed on FRED," Gibson reported then, breaking her out of her frustrated musings. "We're ready to go, Ma'am." 

Sam nodded. "Thanks, Lieutenant. When General Hammond gives the order you and Ferretti go through first - FRED's gonna need a little help getting down the steps the other side." 

"Yes, Ma'am," Gibson replied, turning back towards where Ferretti was still fiddling with something on FRED. Sam smiled. It was still all new, but she had to admit that she was enjoying giving the orders for once. O'Neill had been right - this was good for her. Very good for her. 

Just then the gate began its first ponderous rotation, sending the usual rush of adrenaline through her. "Chevron One encoded. Chevron One locked." 

The gate's momentum was building, racing around until the next chevron locked. Behind her, Sam heard the doors open and she smiled as she turned around and saw SG-1 saunter into the room. It was odd, thinking of them as being something other than herself. But there they were, her old team, still a man short after her departure. "Hey Sam," Daniel called as he drew nearer. He was excited, his eyes flicking to the spinning gate and back to her face. "Ready to go?" 

"Sure," she nodded. "Just waiting for you guys to show." 

"Chevron three locked." 

"Carter?" O'Neill said then, moving up to stand at Daniel's side, "isn't Tash...Doctor Greene here?" 

There was an edge to his voice - perhaps concern, perhaps irritation. Although she knew that Tasha wasn't there, Sam glanced hurriedly around. "No, sir. She hasn't arrived yet." 

"Chevron four locked," Simmons' voice came over the speaker. "Chevron five encoded." 

The Colonel frowned and glanced at his watch. "Late," he muttered, slipping the Velcro cover back in place. 

"Ah," Daniel piped up, "I saw her heading back to her quarters about an hour ago - she said something about some additional papers....." 

The look O'Neill fixed on Daniel was icy. "Papers?" he repeated. 

"Chevron six locked. Chevron seven encoded." 

If O'Neill wanted to say more on the subject he was prevented, for at that moment the door to the gate-room opened again and the woman in question hurried inside. 

"Sorry I'm late!" she apologized immediately. "I just realized that I needed...." Her gaze came to rest on the Colonel's irritated face and she stopped mid-sentence. "What?" she asked immediately. 

"Nothing," he muttered, turning away from her. 

"You're not going to sulk are you?" she asked with a mischievous grin. "I'm only a couple of minutes late." 

Sulk? Sam glanced over at O'Neill, watching him control his temper before he ground out an answer. "Just get ready to move out, Doctor Greene." 

Tasha's eyes rose a little at his brusque tone, but she at least knew him well enough to keep her mouth shut. 

"Chevron Seven locked." 

The wormhole surged through the gate and into the room, before settling quietly in place. "Wow," Tasha breathed, coming to stand next to Sam. "That's as incredible as I remember it." 

Sam nodded. "It always is, every time." 

From the control room, Hammond said, "SG-1 and SG-2, you have a go." 

Turning, Sam waved an acknowledgement to the General, before turning back to O'Neill. "Sir?" she asked, seeking permission to move out. 

The Colonel nodded, "All yours Carter," he told her, with a trace of a smile in his eyes. 

She nodded, and turned towards Ferretti and Gibson. "Okay, guys," she called, "let's do it!" 

As FRED lumbered into motion up the ramp, Ferretti and Gibson either side, Sam felt an irrational swell of pride at her team. Her team. God, that sounded good. 

"Oh, this is going to be such fun!" Tasha exclaimed then, heading enthusiastically up the ramp as SG-2 disappeared from view. 

"Whoa!" Sam called, grabbing her arm. "Sorry - Doctor Greene, you need to wait until Ferretti and Gibson have had time to get FRED away from the gate or you'll land right on top of it." A flash of irritation shot through Tasha's dark eyes, but Sam didn't care. The last thing she wanted was an anthropologist smeared all over FRED. "We'll be good to go in just a couple of minutes." 

As if responding to her thoughts, Sam's radio sprung to life. "Major Carter, this is Lieutenant Gibson. We've cleared the gate, ma'am. Over." 

"Roger that, Lieutenant," she replied. "We're on our way. Carter out." 

She looked up at O'Neill. "Gate's clear, sir." 

He nodded. "Let's go. Daniel, Teal'c - with me. Doctor Greene," he glanced at her once, "stick with Major Carter." 

And then, without another backward glance he strode up the ramp and into the gate. 

"Huh," Tasha muttered, falling into step beside Carter, "I guess that was *Colonel* O'Neill." 

"Yup," Sam replied, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the shimmering Stargate, "that was him." 

Tasha was silent, but just as she was about to step into the event horizon Sam thought she heard her murmur, "I think I prefer Jack." And then she was gone. Sam followed her immediately, the chaotic ride through subspace no more stomach-churning than her own emotions. 

*** 

The rush was exhilarating. Like riding a roller-coster naked in winter, blindfold. Not that Tasha had ever done any such thing, but it was as close as she could come to describing the sensation of 'gate travel. 

She was gasping as she stumbled out at the other end, and grateful for Jack's hand on her arm to steady her. "Okay?" he muttered, although he wasn't looking at her. His eyes were roaming the misty surroundings, alert and tense. 

"I'm fine," Tasha assured him, standing up straighter and trying to keep her stomach from lurching up into her throat. 

Jack nodded once. "Carter?" he called, trotting down the steps away from the gate. "Which way?" 

Carter, Tasha noted irritably, seemed unaffected by the journey. She'd emerged from the gate a little behind Tasha as unruffled as if she'd just stepped out of an elevator. She didn't even look queasy as a chill wind ruffled her short blond hair. 

"Actually, sir," she said walking down the steps without a glance at Tasha, "I suggest that we establish a base camp at the 'gate. The atmospheric readings from the MALP indicates that the weather this close to the mountains could be unpredictable - I'd like to get some more accurate readings before we head up into the hills." 

Jack was nodding as he listened to her, his eyes still focused on the misty horizon. "And which hills would they be, Carter?" he asked after a moment. 

Carter paused and smiled slightly. "They'd be the ones under the clouds, sir." 

"Ah," Jack nodded. "Clouds. So that's what they are." 

With a broader smile, Carter said, "Sir, I did mention the meteorological dangers of this mission during the briefing, and General Hammond...." 

"No doubt agreed with your recommendations," Jack finished, turning his eyes on her at last. "As do I," he added in a lower voice. "Set up the camp, Major. I'll take SG-1 to secure the perimeter." 

"Yes sir," came the polite, restrained response as Carter turned away. But before she'd taken a step Jack spoke again. 

"Carter?" he called. She turned. "It's good...." Jack stopped, and with a cold bite of jealousy in her heart Tasha saw Jack fling a barely perceptible look in her direction. "It's gonna get dark soon," he said, glancing up at the glowering skies. "I suggest we bed down ASAP and try to get over the 'gate lag." He had a point, but Tasha knew that he'd wanted to say something different, something that her presence had inhibited. 

"Yes sir," Carter replied once more, but there was a little smile as she spoke that told Tasha they'd shared something...personal. Carter said no more, but Tasha watched as the Major strode off to find her team. She didn't like the woman, she decided. She was entirely too self-possessed and restrained. On the surface she was the perfect little soldier, all 'yes sir' and 'no sir' but Tasha sensed something tumultuous beneath. And she was wary of it - if Carter's restraint were ever to slip.... 

"Tasha?" Jack was calling her and she hurriedly turned her eyes from Carter's retreating form. 

"Yes?" she said, making her way down the steps. 

"Look - I'm taking my team out. You stay with Carter - and...do what she says. Okay?" 

Rolling her eyes, she began to protest. "I'm not a child, Jack. I'm not going to fall over and scrape my knee." 

His eyes narrowed. "You're on an alien planet, Natasha," he reminded her. "It's dangerous. Just stick with SG-2 and if Carter tells you to jump, you ask 'how high' not 'why'. Got it?" 

Recognizing the stubborn set of his jaw, Tasha decided it was useless to pursue the point any further. She had her own ideas about her competence in the field, but knew that it would be pointless to argue with Jack about it. So instead she merely smiled and gave him a mock salute, "Yes sir." 

To her surprise, Jack's frown deepened. "Don't call me that," he growled. "It's not appropriate." 

Tasha sighed. "Right," she snapped. "Fine. God forbid I say something inappropriate!" And with that she turned on her heel and stalked towards where Carter and her team were dragging equipment off of what she assumed was FRED. She half expected, or perhaps hoped, that Jack would follow and apologize. But he didn't, and after a moment she heard his voice calling Teal'c and Daniel Jackson. Irritated by her own weakness, but unable to help herself, Tasha looked over her shoulder just in time to see Jack lead his team off in the opposite direction, peaked cap pulled low and strides long and purposeful. She had to admit that he looked rather impressive in his full kit, but other than that she was aggravated. How dare he treat her like some kind of inexperienced child! Just because she wasn't in the military it didn't mean she couldn't handle herself on an expedition. Hell, she'd been in worse places on Earth than this planet, even with Carter's 'meteorological dangers'. And she was damn well going to prove it - to Jack and to the up-tight Major. 

*** 

It was almost dark by the time Jack turned back towards the camp, the perimeter as secure as their brief survey of the terrain could make it. But he was satisfied. He sensed no danger in the straggly woodland that led up towards the craggy peaks. 

"So," Daniel said from where he walked at his side, "tomorrow we head up to the ruins?" 

Jack glanced at him sideways. "You'll have to ask Carter," he replied, smiling slightly at the idea. "Primary responsibility for the mission objectives lies with her." 

"Oh," Daniel nodded, "right." He was silent for a moment, and then in a lower voice said, "It's still strange, isn't it? Not having her in the team." 

"Yeah," Jack answered shortly. 

"It's kinda brought it home," Daniel continued, "going off-world with her again. I guess I just miss her." 

This time Jack just nodded, unwilling to say anything that might risk betraying the extent to which he missed her. It wasn't just that he constantly found himself turning around to ask her a question, or that he simply missed seeing her face. It was deeper than that. He felt her absence in a way for which he'd been utterly unprepared - as an emptiness and an ache that never abated. The pain was physical, like a fist in his chest squeezing tighter and tighter. And it was only made worse by the fact that he knew it was wrong, that honor kept them apart now as well as circumstances. Honor in the form of Tasha. 

He didn't take his obligation towards Tasha lightly - she'd given him her affection freely and he did his best to return it in kind. But it had been different before Carter's reassignment. He'd seen her every day then, spent days at a time with her off-world. It had been easy to fit Tasha into that life and to sublimate his feelings for Carter. But now things were different. He rarely saw Carter and he'd been completely unprepared for the way her absence would preoccupy him. He found himself thinking about her more and more, working out when he would see her next. Counting the days until.... 

"Ah, Jack?" 

Daniel's voice was coming from behind him, and Jack looked up to realize that he'd almost walked right past the camp. Irritated he turned back towards where Daniel was waiting with Teal'c. "Sorry," he mumbled, embarrassed at his lapse of concentration. Glancing over towards where SG-2 were setting up camp he saw the steady white glare of halogen lamps snap on against the encroaching darkness, and to one side the friendly crackle of a fire to ward off the night's cold. 

"I hope," Teal'c said from behind them, "that it is not Major Carter's turn to prepare the meal." 

Jack smiled. "Yeah," he agreed. "Can't say I've missed Carter's cooking." 

"It's just MRE's," Daniel pointed out as they headed together towards the camp-site. "Even Sam can't damage those." 

"Are you kidding?" Jack replied, finding an odd kind of release in being able to talk about her like this. "Don't you remember '529?" 

Daniel thought for a moment before his face scrunched. "Oh," he said seriously. "Yeah. The...green stuff." 

"God that was awful!" 

Chuckling, Daniel reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a candy bar. "Here," he said, handing it to Jack. "Emergency rations, just in case." 

"Ah," Jack grinned, "so that's why you always stuff your pocket's with these things!" 

Daniel shrugged. "Just don't tell Sam," he warned. 

Jack's grin slipped into a smile and from there into a sigh. "No," he said quietly, dropping the chocolate bar into his pocket, "course not." 

"Don't tell me what?" came a familiar voice from off to their right. It was Carter, and Jack's stomach gave a little, utterly inappropriate flutter as he turned around. She was walking out of the woods towards them, her face shadowed in the darkness although he could still see her smile. God, he adored that smile. 

"Carter," he grinned. "Watcha doin' hiding in the woods?" 

Her eyebrows rose. "Do you want a detailed description, sir?" 

Assessing her amused look he decided not to press the issue. "I'll use my imagination," he decided, provoking her eyebrows to rise even further. "So," he said, hurriedly changing the subject, "everything okay at base camp?" 

Falling in at his side, Carter nodded. "Yes sir." And then she frowned. "I'm getting some pretty wild atmospheric pressure readings though, so we could be in for a stormy night." 

He nodded, thinking through the ramifications of her words. "Nothing we can't handle though, right?" 

"No," she said with a shake of her head. "Down here I think we'll be fine. Up in the mountains though...." 

"Is it going to be a problem?" Jack asked, glancing over at Daniel and remembering Tasha's impatience. "I know the archeologists among us are keen to reach their rocks." 

Carter nodded, but in the darkness he couldn't see the expression on her face. "I don't see any problems, sir," she said more quietly. "The atmospheric pressure readings are unusual. At least, if this was Earth they would be. Here though, it could be normal." 

"When you say unusual," he asked, slowing as they approached the edge of the camp, "what do you mean? Unusual how?" 

She shrugged and they came to a stop together, just beyond the ring of light from the halogen lamps. "Big spikes and dips in the pressure - like a huge storm is brewing and then just disappears. It's hard to interpret beyond saying that the weather's unpredictable. We should be prepared for anything when we head up into the mountains." 

"Well, that's always good advice," he agreed quietly before they both fell into silence. Daniel and Teal'c had already passed them and were retrieving their packs from the general pile and hefting them towards one of the tents. Carter was watching them, and in the pale light of the lamps Jack could see a pained look touch her features briefly before she turned back to him. 

Shadowed once more, her face was unreadable as she said, "I wasn't sure where you'd be sleeping, sir. Doctor Greene seemed to think that you and she would be sharing a tent so I...." 

"Put her in with you, Carter," he interrupted hurriedly. "I'll share with Daniel." 

Sam nodded. "I suggested that, sir. But Doctor Greene was quite insistent." 

He sighed. "I'll talk to her." 

"Thank you, sir," Carter replied, giving him a small, rueful smile. "Our regulations must seem silly to her - they're probably difficult to understand if you're not military." 

"Yeah," he agreed quietly, catching her gaze and holding it. "Sometimes they're hard to understand even when you are." 

But Carter shook her head. "Not hard to understand," she said softly, "just sometimes hard to follow." 

Jack's heart leaped in response to her words and without thought he reached out and touched her arm. "Carter...," he said, but all the words he wanted to say to her were forbidden and nothing else would come to mind. 

Their locked gaze held briefly before, turning away, she moved out from beneath his light touch. "I'm sorry," she muttered. 

"Don't be," he whispered, fixing his eyes on her face. All he could see was her profile now, pale and serious in the lamplight, and...God, he wanted to hold her. The desire washed over him so powerfully that he could barely resist the impulse. She was hurting, and he was responsible. Jack had never been a vain man, but neither was he stupid. He might have been blind to her feelings before, but she'd opened his eyes that evening in his office and he refused to close them now. Him being here with Tasha was painful to her - he could only imagine how she felt seeing them together. Had the situation been reversed, had she been here with some other man.... He shuddered to think how he would have felt. 

She wasn't looking at him now, but was staring instead back into the small camp. As he watched her she took a deep breath and the frown eased from her face. "Are you sure you're sorry?" she said, still staring out into the trees. "You don't know what I'm apologizing for." 

There was a lightness to her voice now, albeit strained. But he played along, hoping to help her if he could. "I don't?" he asked, matching her tone. 

"Let's just say," she said, flinging him a small smile, "that you might be needing Daniel's stack of candy bars tonight." 

His answering smile was wry. "You're cooking?" 

"I thought I'd make 'green stuff'," she replied as she started walking towards the fire. "Since it was such a hit on '529?." 

Despite himself, Jack chuckled as he watched her walk away. Carter was never one to dwell on problems, or to wallow in self-pity. She was one of the strongest, most courageous people he knew. And he loved her for it. "Don't forget to add those gray lumpy bits!" he called after her, but he only got a dismissive wave of her hand in response. But it was enough. From Carter, it was enough. 

*** 

In the end Sam had off-loaded the chore of preparing the communal meal onto Gibson. One of the advantages of command - and a decision for which everyone else would, no doubt, be grateful. So, instead of ruining MRE's Sam sat cross legged at the edge of her tent, peering at the latest readings from the barometer. It was as unsettling as all the others, showing a tremendous dip in pressure. It was too dark to see the mountains, but the night was devoid of stars so she knew that the clouds had to be building. Far in the distance she caught a low roll of thunder and the readout papers she held fluttered as a breeze stirred the air. It felt like a storm was brewing, but it had felt like that since their arrival and so far nothing had happened. Still there was a charge in the air, a sense of something approaching that set her hackles rising. 

A pack dropped suddenly at her feet, and Sam looked up to see a highly irritated Doctor Greene standing before her. "This is ridiculous," the woman stormed. 

Sam merely raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" 

"This," Tasha complained, waving her hand at their tent. "The boys' tent and the girls' tent. It's ridiculous." 

"It's the military," Sam shrugged. "And it's only a couple of nights. I don't snore," she added with a thin smile. 

Tasha seemed to relax at her words and dropped to the ground at her side with a sigh. "I'm sorry," she sighed, "I didn't mean to be rude. I'm just a little frustrated...." 

"Right," Sam nodded, turning her attention back to the barometer data. The last thing she wanted to know about was Tasha's frustration! 

Tasha, however, had different ideas. "How long have you know Jack?" she asked abruptly. 

"A little over four years," Sam replied without lifting her gaze. 

"So tell me," Tasha sighed, "has he always been this...moody." 

Sam couldn't help but smile. "I guess. Daniel described him as mercurial once. I think that just about sums him up." 

"Mercurial?" Tasha repeated, rolling the word around her tongue. "That's a polite way of saying totally unpredictable." 

Glancing up, Sam shook her head. "He's not really unpredictable," she replied. "Once you know him." 

Tasha's eyes narrowed slightly. "He's a hard man to get to know," she said carefully. "But you seem to have managed it." 

There was a hint of ice in the woman's voice and more than a trace of suspicion. Sam was ashamed of herself; the suspicions were not without foundation. "Well...we've been through a lot of stuff together," she answered, turning back to her reports. "We've seen the best and the worst of each other, pretty much." 

Tasha was nodding. "I can see how that would make two people close," she replied softly. "And I know he misses you." 

Sam was glad of the darkness that hid the guilty flush in her cheeks. "It's always like that," she muttered, "when a close team is broken up." 

There was a long pause before Tasha spoke in a low voice. "How close were you?" 

"What?" Sam replied, knowing full well what she meant but stalling for time. Shit, she did *not* want to go in this direction! 

"I mean," Tasha carried on, still talking quietly, "it's obvious there's a bond between you and Jack. I just wondered if you'd ever...gotten closer." 

"No," Sam replied, rising smoothly to her feet and folding the barometric readings sharply into four. "My relationship with the Colonel has only ever been professional, Doctor Greene. And frankly, if you have any questions regarding the Colonel's private life I suggest you ask him. It's not appropriate for me to discuss another officer in that fashion." 

Tasha actually looked contrite as she peered up at Sam. "I'm sorry, Major," she said, running a hand through her curly hair. "I didn't mean to embarrass you." 

"You didn't," Sam assured her. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to send a sit-rep to General Hammond." 

"Of course," Tasha nodded. 

"I've already stowed my gear in the tent," Sam added before she left. "So make yourself at home." 

Pushing herself back to her feet, Tasha smiled. "Thank you. But it's not like we'll be here long. I don't think I'll unpack." 

Sam glanced once more at the dark, shrouded mountains. "That's not necessarily the case," she said. "I'm not sure how safe it's going to be to get up to the ruins right away." 

"What do you mean?" Tasha asked, her face suddenly sharp and her eyes glittering darkly in the starless night. "We're heading up there at first light. Aren't we?" 

Sam shook her head. "I doubt that, Doctor," she replied, refusing to be intimidated. "I'm going to need to take some more detailed readings before I'm convinced that...." 

"Major Carter," Tasha broke in, "I have five days here, that's all. After that I have to get back to the University. I can't afford to wait for you to clear every rock out of our path to make sure no one stubs a toe." 

"With respect," Sam shot back, her irritation rising, "we're on an alien planet, we don't know what could happen here - it pays to be cautious." 

Tasha's eyes glinted. "Are you telling me we're not going up there tomorrow?" 

"What I'm telling you," Sam said, slowly and deliberately, "is that until I'm satisfied that the weather conditions up there are not hazardous to my team, no one sets a foot on the mountain." 

Tasha was silent but her anger was evident. "I see," was all she said before she turned around and picked up her pack, lugging it into the tent and leaving Sam alone. 

With a sigh, she walked back towards the Stargate. She really did have a sit-rep to send, and it was as good an excuse as any to escape the little camp for a while. The thought of an evening around the fire with Tasha all over O'Neill was not one she was relishing. Seeing them together was difficult, made more so by the fact that she knew the Colonel still felt something for her. But whatever he felt, it obviously wasn't as much as he felt for Tasha - and that thought was like a heavy weight dragging on her soul, making her heartsick. "The sooner this mission is over," she muttered to herself as she started dialing the gate, "the better." 

*** 

Light streamed through the thin fabric of the tent, but Jack could sleep pretty much anywhere and it wasn't the light that woke him up. Instead it was someone pulling insistently on his toe. 

"Jack!" a whispering voice was calling. "Jack...wake up." 

Blearily he opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. Tasha crouched in the doorway to his tent, grinning at him. Behind her he saw bright blue sky. "What time is it?" he grumbled. 

"Early," Tasha replied. "Come on. Time's wasting." 

Glancing over at where Daniel lay buried beneath his sleeping bag, snoring quietly, Jack sat up and scooted closer to the door. "I thought you hated getting out of bed before ten," he accused her quietly, cracking a yawn and rubbing a hand over his face. 

"Not when I'm on an expedition," she assured him, offering him a mug of coffee. "It's a beautiful day, not even Major Carter can complain about the weather." 

Gratefully taking a sip of coffee he nodded. "Where is she?" he asked. 

Tasha's lips tightened. "Still asleep," she replied. "She was up late for some reason - woke me up when she came back in at God knows what time." 

"She had a late watch," Jack replied, uncomfortable with the accusatory tone of Tasha's voice - and with the surge of defensive anger it provoked in his heart. 

"Whatever," Tasha replied, clearly uninterested. "But since she's asleep would you mind ordering someone to get our gear together because I don't want to waste a moment! It's so clear I can actually *see* the ruins from here - and, Jack, they're spectacular! Even better than in the MALP footage." 

He smiled at the way her eyes shone with enthusiasm. "You're like a kid at Christmas," he told her as he climbed out of his sleeping bag, shivering in the chill morning air, and grabbed his boots from where he'd left them outside the tent. "Who else is up?" 

"Ferretti and Gibson," she replied. "I asked them to start taking down the camp but they said they needed to wait for 'orders'." Tasha sighed. "You have no idea how frustrating this is - usually I'm the one giving orders on expedition!" 

Jack nodded as he stood up and stamped his feet against the chill of his boots. "Okay," he muttered, squinting over at where Ferretti and Gibson were idling by the fire. "I'll get them moving." 

Tasha stood up and pecked him on the cheek. "Thanks," she said quietly, brushing her hand down his arm. "I know I'm being a bit of a pain, but I'm just so excited!" 

"Really?" he replied, with mock surprise. "I hadn't noticed." 

Tasha grinned. "Come on," she replied, pushing him towards the fire. "We haven't got all day!" 

*** 

Sam awoke to the sounds of activity all around her tent and glanced blearily at her watch. It was almost seven and she was surprised that she'd slept in for so long. Tasha was long gone, and so was her kit. Sam shook her head. If the woman thought she was just going to head up into the mountains on her own she had another thing coming. Sitting up, she scrubbed a hand through her hair - even without a mirror she could tell it was sticking out all over the place - and crawled out of her sleeping bag. She unzipped the front of the tent, blinking in some surprise at the brilliant blue sky. So much for the storm she'd been convinced was brewing. But the air was chill and she hurriedly reached for her jacket before pulling on her boots. Clearly the previous night's storm hadn't amounted to anything, but despite the sunny day Sam still wanted to take some new readings before she authorized the mission to proceed. The sharp dips and spikes of pressure were just unsettling to her ordered mind. 

Standing up she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill and.... What the hell? Looking around she realized that hers was the only tent still standing, everyone else was busy packing their kit away with the obvious intention of moving out in the very near future. At that moment Gibson walked passed. "Morning, Major," he called. "Thought you were gonna sleep in all day." 

She caught his arm to stop him. "What's going on?" she asked. 

An eyebrow rose. "Ma'am?" 

"Why are we decamping?" 

"Well...aren't we gonna go look at Doctor Jackson's rocks?" 

Sam frowned. "I haven't made a decision on that, lieutenant. I didn't give the order to move out." 

Gibson suddenly looked rather awkward. "Ah, no ma'am," he said, glancing over to where O'Neill stood with Daniel and Tasha. "Colonel O'Neill gave the order, ma'am." 

Schooling her face to impassivity, Sam said, "I see." And then she nodded at Gibson, "Carry on," she said, releasing him. For a moment she just stared at O'Neill. He knew the mission objectives were her responsibility, so what the hell was he playing at deciding to move out without even consulting her! She thought he had more respect for her than that. But as she watched she saw him laugh at something Tasha said, just as the woman gave him an affectionate shove that only increased his humor. And in that moment she had her answer. Tasha. Of course. No doubt irritated by Sam's refusal to authorize the mission the previous night, Tasha had just taken the whole thing over her head to O'Neill. And he was hardly likely to refuse her! She didn't know who she was angrier with, Tasha for doing an end-run around her or the Colonel for being so unprofessional. 

Gritting her teeth against the angry words that begged to be spoken, Sam stalked towards them. There was no way she was going to let him get away with this! 

"Hey Carter," O'Neill called as soon as she drew near, "enjoy sleeping in?" 

Sam made no attempt to reply in kind. Instead she snapped, "Sir - may I have a word, please?" 

The Colonel's eyebrows shot up in surprise at her tone. "Is there a problem, Major?" 

"Yes sir," she replied, eyeing him levelly. 

His surprise was turning into concern now. "Okay...so shoot." 

"In private sir," she insisted, glancing angrily towards Tasha. 

The woman had the good grace to look ashamed and didn't meet Sam's eyes. "Ah - I'm going to finish sorting out my pack," she decided, giving Jack's arm a little farewell squeeze. 

"Sure," O'Neill replied, although his gaze didn't leave Sam's. He looked genuinely perplexed, which was astonishing. How could he not realize she'd be pissed at having her decision totally ignored? 

Daniel cleared his throat. "Think I'll go look at the MALP report again," he muttered, although Sam could tell his curiosity was aflame. 

She glanced at him. "I'll catch up with you later," she said, and he nodded, knowing that she'd fill him in on the details. 

As Daniel walked away, O'Neill took a step closer. "What's going on?" he asked quietly. "Are you okay?" 

Folding her arms over her chest, Sam ignored his concern and said, "Why did you countermand my orders, sir?" 

His eyes widened. "What?" 

"Sir, General Hammond gave the overall responsibility for achieving the mission's objectives to me. When and if we proceed to the ruins was my call. And I hadn't made it yet. Why did you over-rule me?" 

O'Neill winced and, placing a hand on her shoulder, guided her a little further from the rest of the team. "Shit, Carter I didn't think," he muttered, "Tasha was in a hurry to leave, you were still asleep - I just....." He stopped and removed his hand from her shoulder. "I'm sorry - you're right, it was your call. You should have given the order." 

Sam nodded. "And I wouldn't have given it," she replied, "until I'd taken some more barometric readings. A point, I might add, which I made very clear to Doctor Greene last night." 

The Colonel frowned and looked away. "You did?" 

"Yes sir," she replied, her anger beginning to fade in the face of his obvious contrition. "I know it's a beautiful morning, but I'm still concerned about the pressure fluctuations I was reading yesterday." 

He glanced up at her from under his eyebrows. "I didn't know you'd spoken to Tasha about it," he said softly. "If I had, I'd never have given the order to move out. I'm sorry, Carter - I should have consulted you. I...," he sighed, "I wasn't thinking." 

Sam was silent, flat in the wake of her receding anger. "It's okay," she said quietly. "The weather does look pretty clear. And I know Doctor Greene has a deadline she needs to meet." 

"Her deadline's not an issue," O'Neill assured her. "The safety of the team is. Are you really concerned?" 

Sam shrugged and looked up into the blue sky. "I don't know. This could be the window in the weather we need. Maybe we should make the most of it?" 

"Well, it certainly looks calm enough," the Colonel agreed, "but that doesn't mean anything up in the mountains." 

"No," Sam nodded. "Actually, what I was going to suggest is that SG-2 takes Doctor Greene - and Daniel, of course - up to the ruins, while you and Teal'c stay here. If a storm did blow in and we got into trouble you'd be able to bring a search and rescue team through the gate." 

O'Neill frowned, scuffing at the ground with the toe of his boot. "I think I'd be happier coming along with you," he muttered. "Maybe we could leave Ferretti and Gibson at base camp?" 

"They're my team, sir," she told him firmly, holding his gaze until he nodded agreement and looked away. But she had a pretty good idea why he wanted to come along, and despite the way it gnawed at her heart she forced herself to say, "I know you're worried about Doctor Greene, Colonel, but I promise I'll take care of her." 

He gave her an odd, strained smile. "Sure you will," he said quietly, "but who's gonna take care of you, Carter?" There was a pause, his eyes met hers again for a moment and she wasn't entirely sure what she saw in their depths. But before he gave anything away he looked back down at his boots and frowned. 

Sam spoke into the ambiguous silence. "I can take care of myself, sir," she assured him. "Don't I always?" 

He nodded. "Yeah, you do." And then with a sigh he gazed up towards the mountains. "Well, I guess when you've seen one rock you've seen 'em all." 

"I'll send you a postcard, sir," Sam offered as they started to walk back towards the camp. 

"They make those?" he asked. "How about t-shirts?'" 

Sam smiled. "I'll look out for one. Large?" 

"Extra-large," he corrected, catching her amused smile and adding, "I've been working out." 

It was amazing, Sam thought, that she could go from boiling anger to amusement in a matter of minutes around the Colonel. There was something about him that made it hard to stay angry - an honesty, perhaps, that was beguiling. If he was wrong, he said as much without any of the shifting defensiveness others would adopt to protect their sense of pride. She admired that in him. "Well," she said as they stopped outside her tent, "guess we'll leave this up for you and Teal'c, sir." 

He nodded. "I'll give you forty-eight hours, Carter," he told her, glancing up towards the mountains. "Stay in radio contact." 

"Of course," Sam replied, glancing over his shoulder towards where Daniel stood near the fire, watching them curiously. She returned her gaze to O'Neill, "You'd better put Daniel out of his misery, sir," she told him with a smile. 

The Colonel grinned and shook his head. "One day," he said, "I'm gonna do something that's really gonna give him something to gossip about!" 

Sam returned his grin. "I hope I'm there to see it." 

He made no reply, but his slow smile sent Sam's stomach cart-wheeling - until from behind him she heard Tasha's voice. "So are we going or what?" 

O'Neill's jaw clenched and the smile left his lips. For a moment he said nothing, then in a soft voice he said to Sam, "Be careful up there." 

"Yes sir," she nodded. He returned the gesture briefly and fixed her with one final, serious look before turning around to face Tasha. 

"Get your kit ready," he told her as he walked away from Sam. "The rocks are all yours." 

*** 

The view was spectacular, Tasha thought as she stood atop a rocky prominence and gazed back down towards the Stargate. She could barely make it out in the distance, despite the crystal clear air. She took a deep breath, relishing the sweet, crisp sensation of cold air in her lungs. It was perfect. Well, almost perfect. If Jack had been up here with her instead of stuck down at the gate it would have been perfect. But little-miss-worry, Major Carter, had insisted that he stay behind with Teal'c in case they ran into trouble. 

She sighed and glanced over her shoulder towards where the rest of the team were plodding up the steep climb. She'd come on ahead, ignoring the Major's insistence that they travel at the pace of the slowest. She had no patience for that. They were almost at the ruins now, she could sense the history in the very rocks she trod, and she wasn't going to be held back by anyone. A sudden breeze blew through her hair, tugging free a couple of stray strands. Tasha tucked them behind her ears as she climbed back down from the outcrop to wait for the Major and her team. The ruins, she thought, were probably beyond the next crest, nestled right at the juncture of the foothills and the mountains themselves. And drifting on the breeze that tugged at her hair she heard the unmistakable rush and surge of water - there was a river nearby. One of which they'd seen no trace on the MALP survey. 

Predictably, Carter was the first person to meet her and her narrow face was hard and disapproving as she crested the ridge. "Doctor Greene," she snapped, not even winded by the climb, "I thought I made myself clear - don't get too far ahead of the group." 

Tasha smiled. "Relax," she told her. "Nothing happened." 

Carter shook her head. "That's not the point," she said, shifting her pack a little on her shoulders. "Something might have." 

"I can look after myself," Tasha assured her, more than a little irritated by the young woman. "You were probably still in High School when I went on my first expedition, Major. I know what I'm doing." 

Carter was unfazed. "While you're here," she said firmly, "you are my responsibility - General Hammond made that clear. And so did Colonel O'Neill." 

Jack? A smile tugged at Tasha's lips. "Jack said that?" she asked. "That I was your responsibility?" 

"Yes," came the curt reply as Carter glanced over towards the view Tasha had been admiring. 

Tasha's smiled broadened, and she couldn't help but feel a childish flush of triumph as she looked at Carter's stoic face. It didn't take a genius to work out that the woman had feelings for Jack, so this, she suspected, was killing her. "That's sweet," she said, studying Carter intently. 

But the Major was as impassive as the mountain. "I guess." 

"He's very protective," Tasha continued. "I've noticed that before - he's always complaining that I drive and talk on my cell-phone at the same time. He worries." 

Carter didn't shift her gaze, and behind her dark glasses it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. She didn't reply immediately but when she did her voice was more thoughtful than Tasha had expected. "He's lost a lot of people in his life," she said quietly. "That would make anyone protective of the people they...care about." 

Tasha nodded, curious now. "I know about his wife," she said quietly. "But has there been anyone else important to him? Since Sara, I mean." 

"I, um," Carter replied with a frown, "I don't really know. One maybe...a woman called Laira. They were together for a few months I think." 

Laira? Jack had never mentioned the name. "Is she in the SGC?" she asked Carter, at once curious and irritated that the Major knew more about Jack's private life than she did. 

"No," came the short reply. "She was on another planet - the Colonel was stranded there for three months. He didn't think he was coming home." 

Tasha raised her eyes. He'd never even told her about that! She was beginning to wonder how much else there was she didn't know. "What was she like?" she asked abruptly. 

"Laira?" Carter asked, turning to face her. Tasha nodded and Carter shrugged a little. "Strong," she said after a moment. "Quite feminine in a nurturing kind of way. I didn't really know her, but that's how she seemed." 

"Was he happy with her?" Tasha pressed. "Why did he leave?" 

Carter's frown deepened. "You'd have to ask Colonel O'Neill," she replied, her brief moment of openness gone. "He's never spoken to me about it." That in itself seemed odd to Tasha, given the obvious closeness of their relationship, but just as she was opening her mouth to speak the rest of the group arrived. 

"Steep climb," Daniel sighed, taking a deep breath as he drew to a halt. "We must be almost there by now." 

"Over the next rise," Tasha said, taking a couple of steps towards him, glad that at least someone shared her enthusiasm for their discovery. "Do you agree, Major?" she said, tuning back towards Carter. 

But Carter's attention was on the sky where a couple of puffy white clouds were drifting into view and she wasn't listening. And then a crackle of static hissed over their radios, "Carter, do you read?" It was Jack. 

"Carter, here," came the Major's immediate reply. 

There was another static fizz and then, "Find any postcards yet?" 

Carter smiled. "Not yet, sir. We estimate another couple of hours before we reach the site, sir." 

"Copy that. How's the weather?" 

Carter frowned up at the sky again. "Okay so far, sir. How's it with you?" 

"Peachy," came the reply. "I'm working on my tan." 

A sudden smile burst onto Carter's lips, lighting up her whole face with amusement. "Glad you're keeping busy, sir." 

There was a pause and another static hiss until, in a more serious voice, Jack said, "Check-in when you reach the site, or in two hours from now, Carter." 

"Copy that, sir," she replied, her tone as serious as his once more. "Carter out." 

"You know," Ferretti grumbled from where he stood behind Daniel, "the day I make Colonel I'm gonna start doing that - sit on my ass all day getting a tan and watching other people work." 

"The day you make Colonel," Carter told him, as she prepared to move out, "will be a cold one in hell and no one will be getting a tan." 

Gibson snorted and Ferretti just grumbled some more, but they followed her nonetheless as she led the way, leaving Tasha and Daniel to bring up the rear. "You know," Tasha said quietly as they walked together, "I don't know how you stand working with the military." 

Daniel glanced at her sideways. "Well, it took a little getting used to," he admitted. "And Jack and I still have a fundamentally different attitude to a lot of things...but," he shrugged, "I respect them - what they stand for, how they do their jobs. It's easy to see the world in black and white from the ivory towers of academia." 

Tasha shook her head. "So you prefer it down here in the gritty reality?" she asked. "Where every aspect of your life is governed by petty regulations? And where scientific or cultural significance is secondary to military usefulness?" 

Daniel chuckled. "Don't get me started on that one," he warned. "But overall - yeah. I like it here. I like these people - even with their regulations. They do a difficult job, and they do it well. You should remember that." 

There was an edge of warning to his voice that told Tasha to drop the subject. But he hadn't changed her mind - she'd never been one to follow rules simply because they were rules. And she wasn't about to start now. 

*** 

Teal'c sat on the ground, composed and at ease. At his side O'Neill lay stretched out in the sunshine, eyes closed, although Teal'c was well aware that the man did not sleep. There was a subtle tension in his muscles even as he rested that betrayed an unease that O'Neill would, no doubt, have wished better concealed. 

Teal'c, however, understood his anxiety and shared it. Both men were better suited to action than waiting - it was the way of warriors such as themselves. Teal'c's training may have given him the appearance of impassivity but it had not dulled his need for action. And as his eyes roved once more over the jagged mountain face before them he could not but wish that he were there, with Daniel Jackson and Major Carter, rather than waiting below. 

"It won't make them move any faster you know," O'Neill said then, still keeping his eyes closed. 

"What will not?" Teal'c asked, turning back towards his friend. 

"Staring at the mountain." 

Teal'c almost smiled - perhaps his training had been less effective than he had thought. Or perhaps O'Neill was an especially astute observer; he suspected the latter. "You are correct," he replied, returning his gaze to the mountain nonetheless. 

O'Neill yawned. "Wanna play cards or something?" he asked, opening one eye. "Since Carter's not here we could use the ones with the naked women on the backs...." 

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "As I recall, it was Daniel Jackson who objected most vociferously to their use." 

"Yeah," O'Neill nodded, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "But he's not here either. Wanna play? Try and win back some of that money you owe me?" 

"I will play," Teal'c decided. "However, it is you who owe me money, O'Neill." 

The Colonel feigned surprise. "It is? You sure about that?" 

"Five dollars, thirty-nine cents and a Happy Meal." 

"A Happy Meal?" 

"You ran out of money on P5X-925." 

O'Neill nodded slowly. "Right, right. It's all coming back." Then he grinned as he reached into his pocked and retrieved the pack of cards. "So, what'll it be? Poker? Black Jack?" 

"Poker," Teal'c decided 

O'Neill nodded as he shuffled through the pack, grinning again. "Gotta love these cards." 

"Daniel Jackson believes they are exploitative," Teal'c reminded him. 

"Yeah, well, that's Daniel for you," he replied, beginning to deal. "He's a geek." 

"I believe Doctor Greene and Major Carter would agree with him." 

O'Neill looked up with a touch of guilt. "Since when did you become a New Man, Teal'c?" 

"New man?" 

O'Neill shook his head. "Never mind, just play. Come on. I wanna win back my money." 

Teal'c resisted the urge to smile at O'Neill's discomfort and picked up his cards. 'Do what you must to unbalance your opponent' - it had been one of his first lessons in the art of warfare and as he looked over at O'Neill's slightly guilty expression he knew that he had no need to fear for his winnings. "I bet one dollar," he announced. O'Neill's frown deepened. 

*** 

Spectacular didn't begin to describe the view as Sam stood at the edge of a wide ravine that seemed to split the mountain in two. Water bust forth from the side of the rock face opposite them, cascading in sparkling torrents towards the river that surged below, the mist surrounding it dancing with rainbows in the sunlight. The spray from the falls was damp in the air and Sam felt it blow coolly onto her face as she watched in wonder. At the center of the wide ravine an island of rock seemed to float in the mist, its pale rose-colored stone carved exquisitely into what appeared to Sam to be dwellings and spires that soared amid the rainbow haze like something out of a fairy tale. 

"Oh my," breathed Tasha at her side, bursting with excitement. "This is unbelievable." 

"I've never seen anything like it," Daniel whispered, his voice equally reverential. 

"Wow," Sam agreed. 

Off to her right, slightly down the slope on which they stood, Ferretti and Gibson were exploring. "Hey, Major!" Gibson called, drawing her gaze reluctantly from the spectacle. "Look - a bridge." 

Tasha was in motion instantly. "Where?" she asked, scrambling down the rocky slope towards them. 

Sam didn't move right away however, but peered through the mist until she could make out a slender thread running from where Gibson stood towards the rocky island in the mist. "There," she said to Daniel, raising her hand to point. "See?" 

He squinted for a moment and then nodded. "Looks narrow." 

"Yeah," she agreed. "Pretty amazing that anything so fragile could still be standing. How old do you think this place is?" 

Daniel shrugged as he started moving down towards Tasha and the others. Sam followed. "Three or four thousand years, probably," he told her. "At least. But we have no idea when the civilization departed - so some of it could be a lot newer. It depends how long they kept building." 

As they reached the others, Tasha was already in mid-flow. "Listen," she was saying to Ferretti, "I know it's old but it's also the only way over to the city and I'm willing to take the risk even if you're not." 

Ferritti was looking none too patient. "Look, Doctor," he snapped. "We have no idea how strong that thing is. It could break the moment you step on it." 

Sam sighed as she took in the stubborn set of Tasha's jaw and hurriedly said, "Ferretti's right. We need to make sure it's safe before we cross." 

"Oh, well I might have known you'd say that!" Tasha snapped as she whirled on Sam. "Little-miss-cautious! What is the *matter* with you people? Can't you understand what it is we've found?" 

Little-miss-cautious?! It took all her professional restraint not to retort in kind, but instead she kept her voice flat and calm. "Of course I understand, Doctor Greene. But we have no idea how safe that bridge is, and until we do no one - and I mean, no one - is crossing. Understand?" 

Tasha shook her head. "No I don't understand." She turned to Daniel, "That bridge has stood for thousands of years - you know as well as I do that it has to be strong or it wouldn't still be standing." 

Daniel shrugged, clearly not happy with being put in the center of the debate. "You're probably right, Tasha," he told her, much to Sam's irritation. "But Sam has a point too - we need to make sure before we cross. It's only sensible - there's no point in taking unnecessary risks." 

"Huh," Tasha muttered, glaring at Sam. "I had no idea the military were so cowardly." And with that she stalked off back to where they'd left their packs, leaving a tense silence in her wake. 

Sam exchanged an unhappy look with Daniel, who just raised his eyebrows. "Jack did say she was 'open' with her feelings," he reminded her. 

Gibson shifted angrily. "If the bitch calls me a coward again I'll...." 

"Hey," Sam cut him off sharply, "watch your tongue, Lieutenant." She nodded back towards their make-shift camp. "We'll take thirty minutes for lunch, then take a look at the bridge. And keep your opinions to yourselves. Understood?" 

The grumbling response from Gibson and Ferretti was all she could hope for as they stalked off after Tasha. Sam shook her head. "You know," she told Daniel as they headed off in the same direction, "maybe I'll just let her cross on her own and see what happens." 

Daniel laughed darkly. "I don't think Hammond would be too pleased if she ended up at the bottom of the river." And then, more quietly he added, "Nor would Jack." 

Sam sighed. "No," she murmured, "he wouldn't." 

*** 

Jack studied the cards he held - a straight flush. Not bad. But Teal'c had the art of the poker face down to...well, perfection really, and he had no idea what the Jaffa held. Their gaze locked for a moment, silent and steady. And then Jack, never one to play it safe, said, "I'll see your fifteen and raise you three." What the hell, it was only money. 

But to his surprise he suddenly saw Teal'c's impassive expression crack and a small frown crept onto his face. For a brief moment Jack felt a burst of triumph at the thought that he'd won, until reason asserted itself and he realized that Teal'c's changing expression had nothing to do with the game. The man's eyes were focused on something over Jack's shoulder, and a little sliver of dread shivered down his spine at the concern he saw in his friend's dark eyes. "What?" 

Teal'c's rose to his feet and raised a hand to shield his eyes as he stared at the mountains - or, more accurately, at the sky above the mountains. "Look," he said, pointing. 

O'Neill scrambled hurriedly to his feet, the game forgotten in a heartbeat. "What the hell...?" he breathed as he turned and saw a mass of inky clouds boiling up from behind the mountain range. The roiling clouds were dark to the point of blackness, spreading out fast behind the mountains, the flat head of the storm-front looking like nothing so much as an angry fist. Lightening writhed in its depths and in the distance Jack heard thunder. "Shit," he muttered. 

"Major Carter's team will be dangerously exposed," Teal'c said, voicing Jack's own fear. 

He nodded. "Carter will know what to do," he insisted, his faith in her as rock-solid as always. But nonetheless he immediately keyed his radio. "Carter come in." There was no response and a beat of fear thudded in his chest. He tried again, "Carter, respond." 

Again nothing for a moment until suddenly a hiss of static burst forth, amid which he just made out Carter's faint words, "...just on site...there a problem?" 

Jack frowned, at once relieved to hear her voice and worried about her precarious situation. "Carter, there's huge honkin' storm front heading your way, do you see it? Over." 

Static squawked again, and Carter's faint voice said, "...can't see it, sir. ...try for...vantage point. Which direction? Over." 

"South-south-west from the gate, Carter," O'Neill replied hurriedly. "But you don't need to see it. Trust me, it's there. Get your team off the mountain. Over." 

There was a long pause, before the radio crackled again. Almost drowned beneath the static, Carter's voice sounded very small, "Say again...having troub...receiving.... Probably electro...interference.... Will try to....." Her voice sank beneath the static hiss. 

Overhead the boiling clouds drew closer with frightening speed and thunder murmured ominously as lightening flickered amid the coming darkness. Jack's unease began to solidify into panic. "Carter," he barked urgently into the radio. "Repeat, get your team off the mountain. Do you copy?" 

This time there was no response at all. No static, merely silence. He'd lost her. "Goddamn it," he muttered, staring up once more at the storm front. Having come out of nowhere it already dominated the southern horizon, its dark, brooding face oddly incongruous in the brilliant sunshine that was still unmasked by the clouds. A chill wind brushed through his hair and at his side he saw Teal'c shiver. "Come on Carter," he murmured. "You can beat that bastard down the mountain." 

Teal'c made no response, simply turned his eyes back to the mountain. And waited. 

*** 

Sam frowned, craning her neck up at the blue sky above them. South-south-west from the gate? That was pretty much directly behind the mountains, so her view was effectively obscured. Still, she'd heard the note of urgency in O'Neill's voice and trusted him implicitly. She keyed her radio again, "Colonel, come in," she said, releasing the button and waiting, but there was nothing. "Damn it," she muttered. 

At her side, Daniel was chewing on his lunch, brow creased. "I guess we should find some shelter," he said, also peering up at the sky. 

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I wish I'd heard his last message though - I don't know what his orders were." 

Daniel shrugged. "Probably to find shelter." 

He was probably right, but if the storm was a really bad one they might be better off trying to outrun it down the mountain. There wasn't a lot of shelter in the barren, rocky landscape and she knew how quickly the temperature could drop in the mountains. Glancing around she saw Ferretti and Gibson nearby talking quietly as they ate, casting the occasional angry stare towards Tasha who sat apart from them all, surrounded by her frustration and eating slowly. Sam sighed at the thought of having to order the woman back down the mountain - not that she had any qualms about doing it, but the last thing she wanted was another row with her. She may not like her, but she was still important to the Colonel and Sam didn't want to drive a wedge between herself and Jack. 

She needed a better idea of the severity of the storm, she decided. If it looked dangerous then she'd pull back down the mountain, if it just looked like they'd get wet they'd tough it out. She pushed herself to her feet. "I'm gonna try and get a look at the storm-front," she told Daniel. 

His mouth was full, so he simply nodded. But Sam's words attracted Tasha's attention who also rose to her feet. "Major Carter," she said, picking her way over the rocky ground towards her, "I need to, um," she frowned, "I need to use the ladies room." 

Sam resisted the smile that tugged at her lips. The ladies room? "Oh," she replied, not entirely sure what the woman expected her to do about it. 

"I'm going to go that way," Tasha said, pointing back towards the ravine. "Could you make sure your men stay here?" 

"Of course," Sam replied with a serious nod. And then, in a louder voice she called out, "Ferretti, Gibson - eyes front. Doctor Greene has to pee." 

Tasha's eyes widened and a flush touched her cheeks. Sam only felt marginally guilty. "Thank you," Tasha said stiffly, starting to make her way out of the camp. 

Sam watched her go with a shake of her head, and caught a snigger from Gibson and Ferretti as Tasha passed them by. "Get your gear ready guys," she told them, cutting off their laughter. "We've got a storm front coming in - we'll either be taking cover or high-tailing it out of here, either way we're going to need to move fast." 

"Yes ma'am," they replied in unison. Tasha said nothing as she disappeared back towards the ravine. 

"I won't be long," Sam told Daniel as she headed in the opposite direction. There was a spear of rock that jutted out away from the mountain not too far away and she hoped that from the end of that she might be able to glimpse the approaching storm and make a decision about how to proceed. 

As she walked the wind picked up, whipping her hair around the edges of her face and forcing her to zip up her jacket against the chill - no doubt this was the vanguard of the storm. It didn't bode well for staying on the mountain. The rocky outcrop was narrow, and Sam crouched low as she made her way along it. The wind was stronger here and she kept her hands close to the rock, under no illusions about what would happen should she lose her balance. Cautiously she crept towards the end, and then turning she peered upward. Her stomach sank. 

"Shit!" she hissed as she saw the night-dark clouds surging up behind the mountain, its rocky surface still lit by the sunshine and shining bright against the storm that approached. But this was no ordinary storm, Sam knew that instantly. She'd never seen such angry, dangerous looking clouds - they looked like a hammer ready to crush her against the anvil of the mountain. God only knew what the storm would hold, but from the cold, fierce wind that was rushing ahead of the front Sam knew it would be bitter. If they didn't make it off the mountain they didn't stand a chance. 

Despite the wind, she almost ran down the spit of rock and as soon as her feet hit the mountain proper she began to sprint back to the camp. There was absolutely no time to lose if they were going to get down before the storm hit. "Daniel!" she was yelling as she raced into the camp. "Gibson, Ferretti, we're moving out, now!" 

"What is it?" Daniel asked urgently as he swung his pack onto his back and peered up into the sky. It was still blue although the edges of dark clouds were just visible peeking over the top of the mountain. "Bad ?" 

"I've never seen anything like it," Sam told him, lifting her own pack. "We have to get off the mountain." She glanced around, saw Gibson and Ferretti cinching their packs into place and... "Where's Tasha?" she barked. 

Daniel frowned. "Ah...she didn't come back." 

"What?" Sam glanced at her watch. "It's been half an hour!" 

Daniel winced. "Maybe I should have gone and checked....?" 

"It's not your fault," Sam muttered, keying her radio. "Doctor Greene, come in." 

There was nothing but silence in response. "Damn it!" she cursed, looking up at the sky again. The clouds were creeping closer, the top of the mountain now lost amid a dark fog. The storm was approaching fast, and as if to confirm the fact thunder rolled deeply and a large drop of rain fell on her face. She was half tempted to send Ferretti, Gibson and Daniel down the mountain while she went and yanked Tasha back by the hair, but she knew they all stood a better chance together. "Spread out," she ordered, "but keep in visual contact with each other. If visibility drops, pull in. She can't be far." 

With that they headed out after Tasha in the face of the first heavy drops of rain. Sam gritted her teeth, refusing to give in to her growing sense of panic. It was only a storm, she reminded herself, how bad could it get...? 

And then a terrified shriek ripped through the mountain air, rebounding against the rocky surface and chilling Sam to the core. Tasha. 

*** 

"Carter, come in," Jack tried again, turning away from the wind to try and shield the mouthpiece of the radio. He strained to hear against the howling wind and patter of icy rain, but there was no response. Nothing. It had been over an hour and he'd heard nothing from any of them. 

The peaks of all the mountains were engulfed in cloud now, and the sun had long since been hidden. He and Teal'c had sheltered in the tent for a while, but the wind was so strong that Jack had known it was only a matter of time before the thing blew away entirely. So they'd crawled out and taken it down - no mean feat in a howling gale. And now they lurked among the trees, seeking what shelter they could against the driving rain and wind. God only knew what it was like up in the mountains, Jack thought miserably. He hoped Tasha was okay. Despite her assurances of her expedition experience he knew she was neither as fit nor as strong as Carter, Daniel and the rest of his team. Still, he consoled himself, at least she had Carter to watch out for her. There was no one more able to take care of her than Carter. Of course, he thought bitterly, if Tasha hadn't done an end-run around Carter in the first place they may not have headed into the mountains this morning at all. She'd been concerned about the barometric readings, about the possibility of something like this happening.... 

"Damn it," he muttered, remembering their conversation of that morning and her irritation that he'd gone over her head. He was going to be eating humble pie for a month after this! 

Another sharp gust of wind blew, and Jack had to grab his cap to keep from losing it. He shivered and glanced down at his arm where wet splats of sleet were starting to accumulate on his jacket. Looking up through the rain once more, he realized that the entire mountain was obscured behind a wall of icy rain and sleet. His hands were freezing, his clothing not adequate to this dramatic climate change, and he was suddenly gripped by a real fear for his friends. Glancing over he met Teal'c's dark gaze. "This is bad," he said, practically shouting to make himself heard. 

Teal'c nodded. "Perhaps we should return through the gate?" he suggested. "And return with more men to attempt to locate and assist Major Carter's team." 

But Jack shook his head. "We'll never find them in this," he said. "We'd just end up getting people lost." 

"Then we wait," Teal'c decided. 

"Yeah," Jack sighed, turning his gaze back towards the mountains although all he saw now was rain and sleet blown so hard it was almost horizontal. "Now we wait." 

*** 

Sam's heart was racing so fast she could barely breath as they pelted through the rain towards the sound of Tasha's scream. A thousand terrifying images flitted through her mind as she ran, each one more horrible than the last but none so horrible as the thought of having to tell O'Neill that she had lost Tasha - that he'd entrusted Tasha's safety to her and that she'd let him down. She'd rather have died herself than let that happen. 

"Tasha!" she was yelling as the rain grew heavier, turning quickly to sleet. "Tasha!" Behind the sound of the howling wind she heard the plunging roar of the waterfall and knew that they were close to the ravine, but it was difficult to see through the sleet and she slowed, afraid of stumbling blindly over the edge in her hurry. "Tasha!" 

Out to her left she heard Gibson curse loudly and then yell, "Major! Over here! I've found her.... She's on the goddamn bridge!" 

Sam stopped dead. The bridge? She was on the bridge...? "Jesus!" she snapped. "Daniel, with me." He was only a few steps off to her right, but visibility was dropping fast and she didn't want to lose him in the fog. Together they stumbled towards the misty outline of Gibson and Ferretti a few steps behind them. 

Far out over the ravine Sam could barely make out the shape of a figure huddled on the center of the bridge. The rain lashed at Sam's face as she strained to see, oblivious for the moment to its icy touch. "Tasha!" she shouted. "Get back here!" 

There was a long silence and then, faintly through the noise of the waterfall and the screaming wind she heard the woman's trembling voice. "I can't move! The bridge - it's breaking." 

Sam felt sick, every muscle stiffening in fear. "You have to!" she shouted back. "There's no other way. Just move slowly." 

"I CAN'T!" Tasha screamed, and Sam heard utter terror in her voice; she was too frightened to move. She'd seen it happen before, seen terror freeze a man when action was the only thing that could save him. 

Behind her, Gibson growled, "Stupid bitch. Should've guess she'd try something like this." 

Sam said nothing, but knew that he was right. She should have guessed and she should never have let her go off on her own like that. It was her fault, she'd let down her guard, taken the eye off the ball and if Tasha died out here it would be her responsibility. And she couldn't let that happen, for the Colonel's sake she couldn't let that happen. He'd lost too many people in his life and she'd be damned if she'd be responsible for losing another - he deserved better and she refused to let him down. 

Reaching over her shoulders she unclipped her pack and let it drop to the ground. "I'm going after her," she said. 

"What!" Daniel exclaimed, grabbing her arm. "Are you crazy? If the bridge is already breaking....?" 

"I can't leave her out there," Sam told him, firmly removing his hand from her arm. "No one gets left behind, remember?" Then she shrugged. "And I'm the lightest here, so it makes sense for me to go." 

"Sam...," he protested, pulling off his glasses and trying to wipe them free of rain. "There has to be another way." 

"No," she told him with a sharp shake of her head. "There's no time. We have to get off the mountain, fast." She turned to Gibson. "Lieutenant - if anything happens, get everyone down as fast as you can. Understood?" 

His face was grim and troubled, but he nodded. "Yes Ma'am." 

"God Sam...," Daniel muttered. 

She flung him a small smile. "It's gonna be okay," she assured him, although her own fear told her otherwise. But there was no time to worry, barely time to think as she tentatively stepped onto the narrow wooden bridge and felt it sway wildly. In the distance Tasha yelped and hunkered lower. Sam kept her eyes fixed on her goal as she slowly edged across the bridge with the wind and sleet whipping around her, tugging at her clothes and threatening to send her off   
balance at any moment. "Don't move!" she yelled at Tasha. "I'm coming to get you." 

*** 

Daniel watched with his heart in his mouth as Sam cautiously crept across the wooden bridge. Several times she stopped as it started to swing in the gale that was tearing down from the mountain, her hands tightening over the ropes as she crouched low. But each time she moved forward again, inch by agonizing inch, until she reached the point where Tasha cowered. 

"Her foot's stuck!" Sam yelled back at them. "Some of the planks have rotted through!" 

He barely breathed as he watched Sam work to free Tasha's trapped foot, she was too far away and too obscured by the increasingly heavy snow to make out exactly what she was doing but at last he heard her shout, "I've got her - we're coming back." 

"Thank God," Daniel murmured fervently and at his side he heard Ferretti whisper, "Come on Major." 

It took forever as the two formless shapes made their way across the wildly swaying bridge, but eventually Daniel could begin to make out Tasha's pale face, Sam just a few steps behind. Daniel allowed himself to breath again and then...screeeeeeech! A sharp, terrifying   
rending sound split the air and the bridge shuddered violently, sending both Tasha and Sam to their knees. Tasha screamed again and again until Sam yelled, "Just move! For God's sake Tasha, move!" 

With a frantic scrambling gait, Tasha scrabbled forward, and through the storm Daniel could make out her terrified sobs as the bridge shook and shivered. But Sam wasn't moving, she just crouched low watching with savage intensity as Tasha made her way to safety. Each time the bridge shook Sam's hands tightened further, but she made no attempt to move - she was waiting, afraid that her own movements might send them both crashing down. It made sense, even though   
Daniel's stomach was twisted so tight with fear it was painful. But at last Tasha reached the edge of the bridge and Gibson grabbed her and shoved her none too gently behind him where she fell to the ground in a terrified heap. "We've got her!" he yelled to Sam. "Come on Major, move it!" 

Daniel didn't take his eyes from the bridge, even as he crouched down next to Tasha's shivering form and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Come on Sam," he whispered, watching as she crept forward across the quaking bridge. But she'd barely taken three steps when another shrieking sound rent the air and the bridge sagged sharply, twisting on its side - one of the guide rails had broken. 

"Sam!" Daniel yelled in terror, vaulting to his feet and towards the edge of the ravine. She'd been flung sideways and only her grip on the remaining rope kept her from plunging into the abyss. But she was left hanging, the bridge unusable. "Sam hold on!" he screamed, desperate with fear. 

She struggled to get a firmer grip but she was still a good fifty feet out and there was no way they could reach her. No way she could move. She was just hanging, the snow swirling around her almost hiding her from view. Looping her arm around one of the wooden planks, she secured herself a little more before turning towards them. Her face was bleak, white and afraid. But as resolute as stone. "Gibson," she shouted. "You have your orders." 

It took a moment for Daniel to understand what she was saying but when he did he felt physically sick. "No," he whispered. "No." 

"We're not leaving you Major!" Gibson yelled back, bellicose and adamant. "No way!" 

The snow was thick now and a flurry practically hid Sam from Daniel's view, but he heard her voice shouting, "Get them off the mountain, Lieutenant. That's an order. Do it!" 

"I can reach you!" Gibson objected. "We have ropes, I can..." 

"No!" Sam snapped and as another howling gust swept through, Daniel saw her again, hanging like a rag doll amid the fury of the storm. "There's no time. Go. Before I...." Her words were lost as the bridge spasmed again, shrieking its protest into the face of the wind as something else snapped. For an instant Daniel saw Sam's face, pale and terrified, and then she was gone. The bridge fell away, crashing into she side of the mountain and taking Sam with it. 

"NOOOO!" he screamed, involuntarily reaching out as though he could catch her as he dropped to his knees at the side of the ravine and stared down into its depths. But he could see nothing but snow and fog and he thought his heart would break. She was gone. Sam was gone. 

*** 

Jack refused to move. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had the feeling that if he moved from this one spot, if he turned his eyes from their focus ahead of him, he'd never see his friends emerge from the almost blinding snowstorm. He was daring fate, willing them to appear. Several times he'd been certain he'd seen movement, his heart had lifted and his stomach flipped over with relief. But each time it had been a figment of his imagination, a desire wished for too fervently and taking form in the snowy nothingness that surrounded him. 

He was cold. But he relished it. If he was cold they must be colder. But at least he was sharing it, at least in some small way he was there with them instead of here. Waiting. 

And then...was that movement? Was that a shape emerging from the storm? Or was it his mind once more playing tricks with his desperate need? He didn't move. He refused to move until he saw them. He refused to.... 

"O'Neill," Teal'c said from his place at his side, "I believe I see movement." 

Jack's heart jolted. His eyes narrowed as he squinted through the driving snow, and for a moment he saw nothing until a dark shape seemed to loom out of nowhere a mere thirty feet before him. "Yes!" he hissed, his motionless body so charged with adrenaline that it broke instantly into a run. "Carter!" he yelled. "Daniel! Over here!" 

The snow whipped between them, but at last he heard a voice shout back. "Jack!" It was Daniel, sounding grim and exhausted. But it was Daniel. Thank God. He emerged from the storm, caked in snow, his hair and clothing encrusted with ice, his lips blue and his face like milk. 

"Daniel!" Jack breathed, relief almost making him dizzy. "You look like shit, let's get the hell out of here." 

Daniel nodded, but there was no relief, no jubilation on his dead-looking face. There was nothing there at all. Suddenly afraid, Jack looked up to see Gibson appear just a couple of steps behind, supporting Tasha who limped along at his side. It looked like her foot had been hurt, and as soon as she saw him she launched herself at him and fell weeping into his arms. Jack held her in confusion, his gaze flicking from Gibson's dour face to Daniel's in hope of an explanation. "Colonel!" Ferretti said then as he too appeared out of the snow next to Gibson, as matted in ice as the rest of them and his face as grim. "Jesus, Colonel." 

"What's going on?" Jack asked, looking between them all. But no one answered. And then suddenly his heart stopped dead. "Where's Carter?" he asked through a throat tight with terror. 

There was a long silence, Tasha's sobs increased and at length Daniel whispered. "She's gone." 

Reality stopped. Everything around him faded until all he could hear was the racing of the blood in his ears and all he could feel was a pain so all-encompassing that there was no way to express it. "Gone?" he whispered. "Gone where?" 

"She fell," Daniel replied, his ghostly face eerie in the dark storm-light, his blue lips making him look like a corpse. "She's gone." 

"No." Jack shook his head in denial, as if the single word had power to change the truth. "No...." 

Teal'c's heavy hand clasped around his shoulder. "O'Neill," the Jaffa said, his deep voice etched with pain. "We must return through the gate. These people suffer severely from the cold and the storm grows more severe." And then, in a louder voice, Teal'c called, "This way - the Stargate is not far. You are safe." 

Jack followed numbly, barely aware of Tasha as she clung to him, his sluggish mind refusing to accept the dreadful truth. Carter was gone. Gone. He felt himself turning to stone, his body moving clumsily as everything inside shut down. He couldn't take this, he couldn't deal with it. The pain of losing her was more than he could bare. He felt tears choke his throat and freeze there as shock started him shivering helplessly. Carter was gone. He'd lost her. He'd lost himself. He'd lost everything. He'd once confessed that he'd rather die than lose her. But now he understood the truth; without Carter he was already dead. 

He was a dead man walking. 

The gate span up, splashing blue water into the storm and sending snow fizzing into nothingness with a hiss of ozone. "Go," he whispered to Tasha, pushing her gently out of his arms. 

She looked up at him, her narrow face in agony. "I'm sorry," she whispered, but her words made no sense to him. There was only one thought in his head - Carter was gone, nothing else mattered. 

His voice was wooden and flat as he urged her towards the gate. "Just go." He saw the flash of pain in her eyes, but it meant nothing to him. Carter was gone. Carter was *gone*. Inside his heart he felt something building, a welling of grief as violent as the storm that tore around them. He was still shaking, with cold, with shock, and now with raw, savage pain. Dimly through the haze of grief he saw Daniel usher Tasha up the steps towards the gate, she looked back once but he had nothing to give her. Carter was gone. Gibson and Ferreti were close behind Tasha, disappearing silently through the shimmering surface of the Stargate. Only Teal'c held back. 

Turning away, Jack stared out into the storm. Nothing was visible now but driving snow howling down from the mountain like a white demon bent on destruction. But the violent storm felt weak and stunted compared with the demon raging in his soul, fiery and hot with anger and dark with grief. 

"O'Neill," Teal'c said. "We must leave." 

Jack was silent, struggling to find a voice amid the storm that threatened to overwhelm him. "You go," his whispered. "I need a minute." 

He sensed rather than heard Teal'c's acceptance, but suddenly he knew that he was alone. Alone with the storm, both without and within. Alone with his immeasurable grief and loss. Rage boiled up from inside, rage at himself, at the storm, at the capricious gods who had stolen something else so precious from him. So strong was the emotion that it drove him to his knees in the snow, welling up inside like fiery floodwater behind a damn that could no longer hold. And in a moment of wild, untamed anguish he screamed her name into the teeth of the storm. "CARTER!" 

The storm swallowed his cry, ripping it from his mouth and denying him even that release. She was gone. He'd lost her. He'd loved her so much, so deeply, so utterly - and now she was gone. His voice rang out again, ragged and cracked with grief. "Carter!" 

He was gasping for air and sucked in an icy breath that caught in his throat, choking him until it came out as a painful, wrenching sob. "Sam!" And suddenly the rage was gone. He sagged like a puppet with its strings cut and fell forward into the snow. "Sam," he whimpered helplessly as he felt the ice crunch against his face. "Oh God no, not Sam. Please not Sam, please don't take her. Please...." 

And behind him the Stargate shivered and shifted impassively, waiting to take him home and away from her forever. 

*** 

Daniel sat in the locker room with his head in his hands, letting the warm, steamy atmosphere penetrate his frozen limbs and bring life to fingers and toes still icy white. But it could do nothing for the cold ache in his heart, or dispel for a moment the sight of Sam plunging helplessly out of his reach. The stark look of fear on her face was constantly before his eyes, whether they were open or closed, and he couldn't help but feel guilty. If only he'd realized that Tasha had been missing, if only he'd refused to let Sam go across the bridge to rescue her, if only.... 

He sighed, but didn't move. The constant splatter and hiss of the shower in the background was oddly soporific, almost soothing. He sat there and listened to it, as if by remaining immobile he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of her loss. He wouldn't have to live the next moment, pick-up and carry on living when Sam was gone. He wouldn't have to see the livid accusation on the faces of Gibson and Ferretti when they glared at Tasha, or see her bitter remorse, or Teal'c's stoic grief. And he wouldn't have to see Jack. 

O'Neill had stalked back through the gate a good five minutes after the rest of them, his face as fierce and white as the storm and his flat eyes as unrevealing as black ice. He had looked very much like the man Daniel had first met, all those years ago, and the sight had made him shiver. Jack had stalked passed them all, without even sparing a look for Tasha. Her eyes had followed him as he left though, wide with remorse and fear. Daniel didn't blame her - when Jack found out how Carter had died.... 

Died. God.... 

Abruptly the sound of the shower stopped, plunging the room into silence. Daniel lifted his head and after a moment saw Jack padding out of the showers, a towel around his waist. He said nothing as he turned to his locker and began to dress. Daniel sighed and dropped his head back into his hands. The debrief was due within the hour and Jack hadn't said a word since his return. But the thought of him finding out the details in front of everyone.... He'd seen how Jack reacted to those who harmed his people. And there was no doubt that Tasha bore a heavy responsibility here, but Tasha wasn't some random person they'd encountered off-world who meant them ill. She was the woman he...what? Loved? Maybe. Daniel didn't know and it certainly   
wasn't the sort of thing Jack ever discussed. But nonetheless he knew enough about what Jack's feelings for Sam had been to understand how impossible the situation would be for him. And Daniel had no idea how Jack was going to handle that, no idea at all. 

Raising his head again, Daniel sat back against his locker and reached for the t-shirt on the bench at his side. Jack was fully dressed now, sitting down to tie his boots. Daniel couldn't see his face, but O'Neill wore his grief like armor, repelling anyone who got too close. Gritting his teeth against the added pain he was going to cause his friend Daniel didn't take his eyes from Jack as he said, "I have to tell you how it happened." 

Jack stopped, but he didn't move. "You told me," he said sharply. "She fell." 

"I have to tell you why, Jack," Daniel persisted. "You need to hear this before the debrief." 

Jack shook his head. "Daniel," he warned in a voice that was raw, "please - I don't want the details...." 

"I know," Daniel said quietly, "but Jack, you have to know - she was rescuing Tasha." 

There was silence and after a moment Jack sat up, eyes closed as he leaned back against the lockers. "Sounds like Carter," he whispered softly. 

"Yeah," Daniel agreed, watching his friend's pale face. "But there's more, Jack. I'm sorry. But you're going to hear this from Ferretti and Gibson, so you need to be...warned." 

At that Jack's eyes opened and his haunted gaze came to rest on Daniel. "Warned?" he repeated hollowly. 

Daniel licked at lips gone suddenly dry. "The thing is," he began, "Tasha got into trouble because...because she disobeyed Sam's order. She...there was this bridge and...." 

Jack didn't stop to hear the rest, he was already on his feet and moving. "Hey," Daniel called, jumping up. "Wait! Where are you going?" 

But Jack didn't answer as he stormed through the door, slamming it loudly behind him. And as the sound resonated into silence Daniel was left alone, wondering how the hell his friend was going to cope with this latest blow. Wondering how they all were. 

*** 

Hammond sat behind his desk, staring out towards the Stargate although his mind was far from there, thinking back on the young woman they'd lost. He could hardly believe that she was gone, that her bright smile and infectious enthusiasm would no longer be part of who they were at the SGC. It seemed like a perverted twist of fate that someone so brilliant and so important to so many people could be lost, while he, old and feeling older by the minute, still remained growing fat behind his desk. 

Samantha Carter. In his mind she was at once a bright and eager child, listening wide-eyed as he and her father had swapped stories, and the brilliant woman who had practically made the Stargate project her own and had saved the entire planet more than once. He could hardly differentiate the two in his heart, and he felt his throat tighten with emotion once more. Where the hell was his professional detachment in his old age? 

So caught up was he in his grief that he didn't hear the approach of a visitor until three loud, insistent raps on his door demanded attention. He had no doubt who it was, "Come in, Jack." 

O'Neill stalked into his office looking almost feral. "General," he began immediately, "I have to go back for her...." 

Sitting forward, Hammond leaned his elbows on his desk and nodded. He'd been expecting this. "Close the door," he said, "and take a seat." 

Jack closed the door, but didn't sit down. Instead he just stood stiffly in front of Hammond's desk, the ridged tension in each muscle testament to the amount of control he was exerting over himself. "You know we'll send a team to retrieve Major Carter's...body," he said, wincing as he said the word. "But I'm not sure it's a good idea for Major Carter's team - or former team - to be part of that operation. You're too close, Jack. God knows this is hard enough without putting yourself through that." 

"No one gets left behind," Jack growled, the words coming through gritted teeth. "I won't leave her for someone else to...to find, sir." His face crumpled for a moment and he dropped his gaze, although he didn't lose control for a second. "It's my fault, General. I owe her this much, at least. At the very least...." 

Hammond was silent for a moment, watching Jack's haggard face. He knew well enough that the relationship between Carter and O'Neill had been rather more intense than was entirely appropriate, but even had he been blind to it the expression of utter desolation lurking in   
Jack's dark eyes would have told him all he needed to know. What he didn't know was why Jack should blame himself. From all that he'd managed to wring from the traumatized Doctor Jackson and the rest of SG-2, Jack had not even been present when the accident had occurred. "Sit down, Jack," he said again, wearily. "And tell me what happened - how is this your fault, son?" 

This time the Colonel did as he was bid, moving woodenly as he lowered himself into the low chair on the other side of the desk. His hands came to rest in his lap, unnaturally still. "She didn't want to go up there," he said quietly, not meeting Hammond's eyes but focusing on a spot in the center of his broad desk. "She had concerns about the weather conditions. I...over ruled her. Tasha...," he grimaced and Hammond saw real anger flash in his eyes, "Doctor Greene was insistent and I made the decision over Carter's head. I should have listened to her, not...Tasha." 

Hammond closed his eyes at O'Neill's confession. It was a hard thing to lose a member of your team - a friend - but harder still if you had to carry any responsibility for the loss. "From what Doctor Jackson told me," he said quietly, opening his eyes to look at Jack's grim face, "the weather seemed good - the storm came out of nowhere." 

"Carter knew. If I hadn't listened to Tasha, if I'd gone with them instead of waiting at base camp..... Damn it, I *told* her to follow Carter's orders, but she's so damn stubborn. I should have warned Sam, I should have...." 

"Jack!" Hammond said firmly, interrupting the flow of regrets. "This isn't your fault." 

O'Neill looked up, his eyes dark and bruised. "Yes it is, sir," he grated. "Because if it isn't my fault then it's Tasha's - and I don't know how to deal with that." 

*** 

Sitting in the briefing room, Tasha felt herself trembling from head to foot. And it wasn't only from the bitter cold that still seemed to cling to every limb, despite the hot shower she'd taken and the warm clothes in which she was dressed. 

No, the chill she felt was an entirely different one, emanating from the men who sat as far from her as possible at the table. Gibson and Ferretti said nothing, either to her or each other, and just sat staring darkly down at hands folded tightly on the table top. Occasionally one of them would shoot her a lethal glare, but nothing was said to break the agonizingly painful silence. Opposite them, Daniel Jackson and Teal'c sat lost in a grief more profound and less angry; Daniel's eyes were wide and distant, shadowed with pain. Fresh tears sprang into Tasha's red and swollen eyes as she looked at him, but when his head turned slightly in her direction she had to look away, unable to meet those sad eyes. 

The guilt was indescribable. 

She had killed Samantha Carter. There was no other way of putting it. She'd have been no less responsible had she leveled a gun at the woman's head and pulled the trigger. The moment she'd set foot on that wretched bridge, Carter's fate had been sealed and Tasha had never in her life regretted anything so vehemently. She had blood on her hands - a young woman had died because of her recklessness. 

Pulling a Kleenex from the wedge that filled her jacket pocket, she wiped at her nose and eyes, doing her best to keep her trembling emotions in check. She wouldn't break down in front of these people, not when their loss went so much deeper than her own. 

And then the door to General Hammond's office opened and stark terror overtook her guilt as she saw the General step out into the room, Jack just a moment behind him. One look at Jack's pale, angry face and she started to feel nauseous. When his eyes determinedly avoided her, she knew beyond doubt that someone had told him the truth. He knew that she'd killed Sam Carter - his friend and God only knew what else. She kept her eyes fixed on him as he stalked into the room and took a seat to the right of Hammond, whose position at the head of the table left no doubt as to who was in charge. But never once did Jack look at her as he picked up a pen and started tapping it angrily against the table-top. After a long silence, Hammond spoke in a   
husky voice, sounding very much like a grieving father. Tasha wanted to weep. 

"There's nothing I can say here that will make anyone feel any better," he said quietly. "We've lost a friend today, a colleague and a woman...," he faltered for a moment, before he carried on, "a woman of exceptional brilliance and a personal warmth that was...a joy to us all." 

Tasha felt tears leaking down her face, but said nothing, knowing that she was the last person anyone in the room wanted to hear from. 

"The purpose of this meeting," he continued, "is simply this. A recovery mission will be sent to P3X-832 once the ice-storm has abated. Colonel O'Neill has expressed a wish to be part of that mission and if...." 

"I'm going," Daniel interrupted instantly, closely followed by Teal'c's, "As am I." 

"Me too, sir," Ferretti added, glancing at Gibson who merely gave a curt nod. 

Hammond took a deep breath and nodded. "I understand your feelings, gentlemen," he said carefully, "and truth be known, I wish I could go with you. Sam deserves to have her friends bring her home." 

As he spoke, Jack covered his face with his hands and Tasha noticed the way they were shaking as he lifted them. She was sick with guilt, but at the same time, far away beneath the self-recrimination, jealously still wormed its ugly way. His feelings for Carter must have been powerful - she wasn't seeing the grief of a man for a comrade in arms. This was the grief of a lover. 

She looked away, down at her fingers clenched tightly around the Kleenex, ashamed of the jealous turn of her thoughts. But she was soon distracted by the screech of chairs being pushed back and away from the table as Hammond dismissed the meeting, and before she could say a word Jack was striding silently towards the exit. "Jack!" she called, but he didn't even break his stride as he pushed angrily at the door and stalked out of the room. 

"I'd give him some space, if I were you," Daniel said then, looking up at her with doleful blue eyes. "He's probably not gonna want to see you for a while." 

"Or ever," Gibson muttered as he and Ferretti started to follow O'Neill from the room, and Tasha was terrified that he spoke the truth. What if Jack never forgave her? What if this meant the end between them? 

After a moment she found herself alone with Daniel and the silent, looming Jaffa. Neither seemed inclined to speak or to move, they just sat lost in thought. As was Tasha, her curious mind even now seeking answers. Hesitantly, afraid of treading on already broken egg-shells, Tasha said, "Jack cared a lot for Sam, didn't he?" 

No one spoke for a moment. Daniel's face crunched into a frown and he pulled off his glasses, cleaning them with the edge of his shirt. "Ah, yeah," he replied at last. "He did. We all did." 

Tasha nodded, but still wasn't satisfied. In a quiet voice she asked, "Did he love her?" 

This time Daniel made no response and it was left to Teal'c to say, "He did not speak of it to us, Natasha Greene. But he would have given his life rather than live without her. Of that I am sure." 

Tasha just nodded, his words ringing true in her heart. Thinking back, she'd probably known it all along. 

*** 

Jack made it back to his quarters. Barely. Slamming the door behind him, he leaned his back against it and slumped to the floor. His sense of grief was overwhelming, and unlike when he'd lost his son, this time his usual defenses were failing. With Charlie he'd simply shut down, closed off to Sara, to the world and to himself. He'd buried his feelings so deeply that he'd almost been able to ignore them, even as they festered within, ultimately erupting one dark night when he'd sat on Charlie's bed and nearly done it...so nearly squeezed the trigger. But this time his feelings wouldn't be buried, they clutched at his throat, gagging him, turning the world to ashes. She was gone, and with her went all the color and light in his life. He saw nothing but bleakness around him, nothing ahead but endless night. 

"Sam," he whispered aloud, savoring the sound of her name on his lips. He had so rarely called her that, never given himself the privilege in case he had become too comfortable with it. To him she had always been Carter. And always would be now. He closed his eyes, dry and prickly with unshed tears. He thought back over a thousand smiles and touches, he remembered the way she'd been able to lift his heart with a simple look, and the brilliance of her smile when he'd occasionally lifted hers. He remembered the heartache of seeing her with other men, and her pain at seeing him with Tasha. He remembered the intoxicating feeling of holding her, of kissing her soft lips during that one stolen embrace, the memory of which only he retained. He remembered the pain of losing Thera and of seeing the same sense of loss reflected in Carter's eyes. He remembered many things - but, for the life of him, he couldn't remember why he'd let   
her slip through his fingers. The regulations, his duty, his position at the SGC...they all seemed like trivia now. Had he really thought they were more important than her? Without any and all of them his world would have carried on, but without Carter everything had turned to dust. 

A tentative tap on the door roused him from his stifling brooding, but he was too despondent to speak. He didn't want company anyhow. 

"Jack?" the shaky voice belonged to Tasha and Jack felt a flash of anger jolt through him, penetrating for a moment his blanket of despair. Tasha. The others all blamed her, he knew. And they had every right. But he understood her better than them, he knew she was impatient, reckless - stubborn. And he'd known she was suspicious of his feelings for Carter. He should have known she wouldn't accept Carter's orders. He should have handled the situation a whole lot better - he should never have agreed to staying back at base camp. This was his fault as much as hers and his anger was split equally between them. 

He pushed himself to his feet and, despite his better judgement, slowly pulled open the door. The face that greeted him was bleak and tearstained, her dark eyes full of dread. "Tasha," he said heavily, finding himself at a loss for words. As usual. 

"I'm so sorry," she whispered immediately. "This is all my fault." 

He eyed her for a moment. "Not all," he said at last. 

She looked away, confused and frightened. "I don't know what to do," she said, sniffing as tears rolled from her eyes. "Everyone here hates me. I can't leave because...I have to...there's an inquiry...I have to...." She stopped and buried her face in a tissue as she wiped at her nose and mouth. "I'm so sorry...." 

Jack was silent. Half of him wanted to rage at her, to shake her until she understood the depth of his loss. But the other half saw her heartfelt remorse, understood that she had meant no harm - and at some level even felt a pang of guilt that his feelings for Sam must now be so obvious. Tasha couldn't be blind to where his heart had lain the whole time they had been together, and yet she was here apologizing to him. And needing his strength in a way Carter never had, and now never would - a way he still found hard to resist. 

"You better come in," he said at last, stepping back and opening the door wider. Tasha looked up, her red and tearful eyes brimming with gratitude as she stepped inside. 

*** 

Ice. 

Pain. 

A cold darkness. 

Slowly, sluggishly Sam became aware of her surroundings. The rush and hiss of water to her left reminded her that she hadn't made it far from the river before she'd collapsed, and when she opened her eyes she saw nothing but darkness and knew that night had fallen. 

"Damn stupid," she whispered to herself as she forced her face from the icy ground and struggled to sit up. Giving in to the to pain and the cold could have cost her her life; she was lucky to have woken up from her hypothermic dose. She moved slowly, the ice and snow clinging to her clothes and skin and the pain from her injuries sending hot spikes of fire through her nerves. She sucked in a sharp breath as she moved her left leg - her ankle was almost certainly broken - and gazed down at the way it was swelling. She had to get her boot off, she realized, or the circulation to her foot would be cut and she'd lose it to gangrene - if she lived that long. But her fingers were numb with cold, and bloody from where they'd been crushed against the cliff face as the bridge had smashed into it. She grimaced at the memory as she struggled to undo her laces. Her right shoulder was tight with pain - probably a torn ligament from the way her arms had been jarred as she clung to the remains of the bridge before finally deciding that her only hope was to plunge into the icy water before the bridge took her there and drowned her beneath its tangling weight. It took an age of bloody, painful fumbling but at last the frozen laces began to give. Once she'd loosened her boot as much as possible she paused and gritted her teeth. This was going to hurt. 

As gently as she could she eased the boot free, but the movement jostled her broken ankle and she allowed herself a yell of agony - there was no one there to hear, after all. She took a couple of deep breaths, forcing the pain-induced nausea back down her throat and waiting for the pain to recede. It did, slightly. A cold sweat stood out on her brow, freezing in the icy air as Sam opened eyes she'd screwed shut and sucked in another a deep breath. 

Her situation was bleak. Craning her neck, she could see no stars overhead, but the vast walls of the ravine in which she sat loomed far above her and she knew there was no way she could climb out, with or without a broken ankle. Given her condition her only hope was rescue. But the trick would be living that long. This far down, close to the savage river, the storm's ferocity was lessened. Snow still fell, driven by a fierce wind, but the walls of the ravine sheltered her a little. Nonetheless, she was exposed. Too exposed to survive, especially in the wet clothes that were practically freezing to her skin. She had to find shelter or die. It was as simple as that. Grimacing with the movement she forced herself onto her knees. There was no way she could walk, but in the distance she could make out a tangled pile of flotsam - she hoped that somewhere in it she'd find something she could use as a crutch. Maybe even something to make a fire. Something.... And so gritting her teeth against the pain, and to stop their wild chattering, Sam began a long and painful crawl towards the pile of debris, her discarded boot already filling with snow. 

*** 

Jack awoke to darkness. Warm, soft darkness. Tasha lay at his side, asleep now and breathing evenly, wrapped in his blankets with her curly hair sprawled around her face. But even in sleep he could see the lines of remorse on her face, almost but not quite as deep as his own. 

Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling. A light shone under the door, providing just enough illumination to outline ghostly shadows in his room. He sighed, his heart empty and as cold as ice. The brief fire of lovemaking had done nothing to ease his pain; it had been little more than a search for comfort, more angry than loving - frantic and unsatisfying for both of them. He turned his head to look at her, tracing her profile in the darkness. He couldn't hate her for what had happened - how could he? He knew from his own bitter experience that a momentary lapse in judgement could end in tragedy. How many nights had he castigated himself again and again for forgetting to lock his gun away? His mistake, but Charlie had paid the price. Just as Carter had paid the price for Tasha's mistake. Accidents happened. People got hurt. 

He couldn't hate her for it. But he couldn't love her. He didn't love her. He never had. He'd sought refuge in her arms and had found the human contact he so craved, but his heart had never been hers. It wasn't an edifying discovery, but his grief was bathing everything in a sharp, painfully clear light and he knew it was the truth. He'd loved Carter but made love to Tasha - he'd used her, just as he was using her now, to sublimate his feelings. In Tasha he had found a vessel for everything he felt for Carter, directing towards her all those feelings that had been so long repressed. He'd loved her in the way he'd was forbidden to love Sam and now that Carter was gone, and his heart was no more than ash, he had nothing left to give Tasha. 

Somewhat sickened by the discovery, he rose quietly from the narrow bed. Tasha was exhausted and didn't stir, for which he was grateful. He couldn't face talking to her now, sure that she would see the truth in his eyes the moment she looked at him - if she didn't already know. 

He padded across the floor to find his clothes and dressed quietly. The clock by his bedside told him it was almost five in the morning, so the commissary would be open. Not that he was hungry, but it was a place to go. He slipped out silently, closing the door gently and blinking at the bright lights in the corridor. He knew he was tired, he could feel it in his aching head and limbs that trembled slightly, but stress kept him alert. Its nervous energy coursed through him, making him twitchy as he wound his way towards the commissary. He felt brittle and tense and prayed that no one got in his way; he wasn't entirely sure he could control his anger. 

Jack's attention was on his feet as he walked slowly along the corridor, slowing as he passed Carter's lab. But he didn't look up. He couldn't bear to see it dark and abandoned. He shivered and moved on hurriedly - someone would have to clear it out. But not him. Not now. 

The commissary was mostly empty as he pushed open the door and stepped inside, but he paid little attention to the room as he gruffly ordered a coffee. Caffeine was probably the last thing his body needed, given his current state of anxiety and stress, but what the hell did he care? With any luck he'd be shipping out to P3X-832 in the next couple of hours and at least the coffee would keep him awake. He was about to sit down at an empty table when he caught sight of Daniel and Teal'c, talking quietly at a table in a far corner. He hesitated for a moment, not sure he wanted company. But in the end he decided that he did - of all the people on base, his team were the only ones who really came close to feeling the loss of Carter as he did. 

Daniel glanced up as he approached, his face pale and drawn. It didn't look like he'd gotten any sleep at all. Even Teal'c looked haggard, although it was grief rather than weariness that haunted his eyes. "Hey," Jack said quietly as he pulled out a chair and sat down. 

"Jack," Daniel nodded. "You doing okay?" 

A glib comment tried to form on Jack's lips, but in the end all he said was, "No. You?" 

"No." Daniel sighed, and in a quiet voice added, "I keep thinking there was something I could have done...some way I could have prevented this." 

Taking a sip of his coffee, Jack shook his head. "Keep that up and you'll destroy yourself," he told his friend. "Trust me, I know." 

"If I'd only kept an eye on Tasha...," he muttered, before falling silent and casting a worried glance at Jack. "Not that this is entirely her fault," he added weakly. 

Jack gave a tight smile. "She thinks it is." 

Daniel nodded. "It must be hard for her," he said. "And for you." 

Taking another sip of his coffee, Jack avoided replying. And into the silence Teal'c spoke. "Major Carter," he said, "is a strong and resourceful soldier." 

Jack glanced up, the note of speculation in Teal'c's voice catching his attention. "She is...was...," he agreed quietly. 

"Until we find her body," Teal'c continued, making Daniel wince, "we should not entirely surrender hope. She may yet live." 

A painful burst of adrenaline bloomed in Jack's chest, making his hand shake with such force that he had to put down his mug. She could still be alive? The thought was powerful, leaving him breathless. He hadn't dared to hope, but if Teal'c thought so.... Gathering his scattered thoughts he turned to Daniel, "But...," he said cautiously, "this ravine was real deep, right? I mean, she couldn't have...survived the fall. Could she?" 

Daniel frowned, anguished. "Jack - I don't think so. I mean, there was a river at the bottom - but...the odds have to be very slim. And the bridge...the debris would have fallen with her..." 

"But there's a chance?" Jack pressed, glancing between Daniel and Teal'c, a desperate hope beating in his chest. "Do you think there's a chance?" 

Teal'c cocked his head. "There is always a chance, O'Neill." 

Nodding slowly, Jack felt something that might have been a smile touch his lips. "Maybe she jumped clear of the bridge and landed in the river?" he said, his mind racing with sudden possibilities. "Or maybe there's a ledge in the cliff face...or something." 

"Wait," Daniel said, reaching out a hand and touching his arm. "Jack - think. Even if she did survive the fall - which is...unlikely - she's been out in that storm for, what?" He glanced at his watch, "Over twelve hours. The odds are...." 

"Never tell me the odds," Jack growled, refusing to let his tiny flame of hope be snuffed out. "Teal'c's right - it's Carter we're talking about. Until we find evidence to the contrary, there's a chance." He rose to his feet, coffee forgotten. "We have to go back for her. Now. If she is alive she won't last long in that storm." Sudden anger flared. "Damn it, we should never have left her behind. We should have gone back for her, tried to...." 

"O'Neill," Teal'c cut in, also rising. "We could not have stayed," he said firmly. "The storm was too severe. Our clothing and equipment were insufficient, and SG-2, Daniel Jackson and Natasha Greene required medical assistance." 

Jack frowned, silently acknowledging the point. Not that it made him feel any better. "No one gets left behind...," he repeated quietly. 

"We will find her," Teal'c assured him, a heavy hand coming to rest on his shoulder, "whatever happens, we will bring her home." Jack just nodded, for a moment too choked to speak. 

Daniel stood up, looking between them. "Then I guess we should go check the weather on P3X-832" 

*** 

Snow swept down the gorge now, driven ferociously by a wind that howled in what sounded like triumph. It clung to everything, to the vertical face of the cliffs that rose above her, to the rocks underfoot, and to Sam - her unprotected face and hands were beyond numb, probably already frost bitten. But she didn't care. She could think of nothing but moving, one agonizing step at a time, as she hobbled along the rocky riverbank, a small bundle of damp wood under one arm. In her other hand a large stick served as an awkward and uncomfortable crutch, but at least she was upright and moving. And while she was moving, she was still alive - the blood was still flowing in her veins, although it felt glacially slow. 

But it was hard. The pain in her ankle was intense, jarring every time her foot caught on rock or bolder. And her head ached dully, bruised at the back from her tumbling passage down river. There was no blood though, and for that she was grateful. But every muscle ached and she was tired, so tired. Her eyes drifted closed, begging her to stop, to rest for just a moment. But she knew it was the storm talking, the whispered incitements of the cold to stop, to rest, to sleep...and to never wake up. 

She fought onward, scouring the cracked surface of the cliff face for shelter. There had to be something, an outcrop, a crevice in which she could squeeze to get out of the storm - and, if she was lucky, to make a fire. Suddenly her make-shift crutch landed on uneven ground and twisted out from beneath her. With a yelp, she fell, jolting her ankle so sharply she actually screamed, and then the scream turned into a sob as the pain ratcheted up a notch, twisting in her empty stomach. She was so cold, so alone. And so afraid. For a long moment she was tempted to just lie there, to let her exhaustion take her into sleep and from there into nothingness. It was a painless way to go, she'd heard. Just like falling asleep. 

But something sparked inside. Despite the icy storm, a flame still burned within her. Sam Carter never gave up. She never said die. And so, with a defiant shout of anger and pain she forced herself back to her feet, grinding her teeth against the shards of agony in her ankle, and forced herself to move. "Stupid bitch," she ground out as she hobbled, the sound of her voice a small comfort, "if I...ever see...that woman again....I'm going to kill...her." 

But her thoughts of strangling the life out of Natasha Greene were abruptly interrupted as her eyes fell on something in the darkness - a splotch of black against the snowy rock. Sam peered closer, struggling to focus through the driving snow. There was something there - could it be an opening? With hope rising, Sam made her way slowly towards the cliff face and the closer she got, the more certain she became until at last... "Yes!" she hissed, seeing the opening of a small cave at the foot of the cliff. A narrow stream of water trickled out, but Sam paid it no mind as she propped her make-shift crutch against the cliff face and dropped to her knees, poking her head inside. She could see nothing, but waving one hand in front of her she could at least tell that there was room to crawl inside. And so she did, pushing her meager supply of firewood ahead of her. It was a blessed relief to escape the incessant howling of the wind and for a moment Sam felt a burst of elation. She'd made it, she stood a chance. 

But her jubilation was short lived. She was frozen, almost literally, and despite her optimistic collection of the damp wood she had nothing with which to make a fire. All her kit had been in her pack, which she'd dumped before she started out over the bridge. Her entire inventory of equipment included one Snickers bar, a packet of Kleenex and her pocket knife. Oh, and several rounds of ammunition. Now, if she could get the gunpowder out of a couple of bullets and somehow create a spark.... Of course, she'd need something for kindling too. 

She sighed, and rubbed her numb hands together. It was too dark to see anything, she realized, and she was exhausted. As nice as a fire would be, she knew she had little chance of lighting one until she had better use of her hands and some light. It couldn't be long until morning, she realized, and at least she was out of the storm. She would rest, she decided, and wait until first light before venturing back out. Laying down carefully she pulled the wrapper from the half-frozen Snickers bar with her teeth, her fingers too clumsy even for that task, and took a bite of her precious food. And then another, resisting the temptation to eat more. She'd save the rest for...later. "Breakfast," she muttered dourly. Still sucking the taste from her teeth, Sam tucked her hands under her arms and curled up around herself trying, to conserve as much heat as possible, and closed her eyes. She knew she would be asleep within moments - whether she would wake up again was another matter entirely. 

*** 

Tasha stood in the control room, gazing over the head of a technician to where Jack and his team were waiting expectantly for the spinning Stargate to open. There were other men with them, but none that she recognized. And they were all dressed in severe weather gear, parkas, goggles and heavy packs strapped to their backs. Ready for anything. 

She counted nine in total. Nine men to bring back the body of their fallen comrade. The woman she had killed. The knot in her stomach hadn't eased at all, the guilt was ever-present and she knew she'd carry it until she died. But as she looked down at Jack, it was a different emotion that surfaced. He'd been gone when she'd awoken that morning, disappearing silently during the night. The last thing she'd expected when she'd gone there to apologize was to end up in his bed, but he'd been in so much obvious pain that she'd simply reached out to offer her comfort and he'd responded with a fierce need, clutching at her with strong, painful hands and kissing her almost angrily. He'd needed her and she was ashamed to admit that she'd relished it - he'd needed *her*. Despite what she'd done, he'd turned to her for comfort. She smiled slightly as she watched the Stargate splash open. 

At her side, General Hammond spoke in somber tones. "SG-1 and SG-3 - you have a go. Bring her home." 

With a cursory wave of acknowledgement, Jack led his team up the ramp and into the gate. And Tasha watched him go with a new confidence in her heart; he'd needed her. She'd help him overcome his grief for Samantha Carter. Perhaps they still had a chance. 

*** 

Although the storm had abated, P3X-832 was bitterly cold and transformed by snow and ice into a land out of fairytales. As Daniel stepped through the gate his breath bloomed around him, misty in the thin, cold air. Ahead of him he saw Jack take a couple of steps away from the gate and immediately key his radio, "Carter, do you read? Over." 

There was no answer, of course, and it pained him to see the flash of tight disappointment on his friend's face. He held little hope of finding Sam alive, and wished profoundly that Teal'c hadn't created that little flicker of hope in Jack. It would only make it harder if - when - they found her. He sighed, as behind him he heard the others emerge, shaking off the chill of gate-travel only to have a deeper chill set in. The planet was *cold* - there was no way Sam could have survived the night in this. No way. But one look at Jack's grim face told him that he wasn't giving up his fragile hope, however unrealistic it might be. 

"Okay," Jack barked the moment the last marine had stepped out of the wormhole. "Standard search pattern - we know where Major Carter fell, so SG-1 will scout that area. But if she survived the fall she may have attempted to get down the mountain on her own, so I want every descent covered. Got that?" 

There was a sharp response in the affirmative from SG-3 and with a curt nod, Jack strode off towards the mountain. Daniel followed with Teal'c close behind, and hoped that Jack knew where he was going because in the new winter-wonderland he was already completely disorientated. 

*** 

It took them a good half day to reach the site of the ruins, and Jack was silently cursing their slow progress the entire time. But the ice and snow that clung to the rocks made the assent twice as hard as previously, so he was forced to drop his pace. But at last the ground leveled out and Daniel came puffing to stand at his side. 

"Quite a climb," he panted, stopping to catch his breath. 

Jack just nodded. "Which way?" he asked, looking around at the various outcrops of rock that surrounded them. 

Daniel favored him with an inscrutable look as he lifted his arm. "Over that ridge," he said quietly, but Jack didn't miss the sense of dread in his voice and he grimaced. Soon they'd know for sure and the thought of finding Carter's cold, mangled body at the bottom of the ravine was one he could barely bring himself to consider. But he knew he had to, that it was the most likely outcome. 

Taking a deep breath he nodded. "Lead the way," he said, glancing over and meeting Daniel's apprehensive eyes. They shared a momentary look of disquiet and dread, but it passed and resolve returned. "We have to bring her home," Jack said, almost to himself. Daniel nodded and they moved out in silence. 

It didn't take long to reach the point where the bridge had once stood. Its shattered remains still clung to the wooden stakes driven into the ground, flapping pathetically in the wind that still blew strongly down the mountain. Jack gazed out over the gorge - it was beautiful. Snow sparkled in the cold air, and spray hung mistily around the ruins that jutted up atop a rocky island at the center of the ravine. It was beautiful and cold and Jack felt something tighten around his heart as he crouched down to examine the remains of the bridge. For a moment he stared at the wood and rope, reaching out and pulling off his glove to touch it as if in some small way making contact with Carter. She'd been here. Probably died here. His throat constricted momentarily, but behind him he felt the presence of Daniel and Teal'c and it grounded him - he had a mission, and there was no room for his personal feelings to intrude. So, deliberately, he lifted his eyes and gazed down into the depths of the gorge, refusing to flinch from the sight that might greet him, even from this height. But all he could see was snow and the fast-moving river rushing through, its foam as white as the ice surrounding it. There was no mangled body. No sign of her at all. And very little evidence of the remains of the bridge - obviously everything had been washed away by the river. Probably including Carter. 

Jack clamped his jaw shut and rose to his feet. "We have to get down there," he decided, turning around to face his team. "Teal'c, you and I will rappel down. Daniel - stay here." Daniel opened his mouth to protest, but Jack talked over him, "Someone needs to coordinate and - if we get into trouble - fetch help." 

And that was that. For once in his life, Daniel knew when to shut up and take his orders. With minimum fuss and maximum efficiency, Teal'c and Jack readied the equipment they'd brought for the descent and sooner than he could have hoped - or feared - Jack found himself bouncing rapidly down the cliff face. The descent took a good few minutes, and with each rapid drop he couldn't help but imagine Carter falling, and falling, and falling.... He scowled the thought away and returned his attention to what he was doing. Almost at the bottom now, Jack slowed his descent until he could walk himself down the last couple of feet. Once on the ground he unclipped the harness and keyed his radio. "Daniel, do you copy? Over." 

"Loud and clear, Jack," came the slightly hissy reply. "Everything okay?" 

O'Neill glanced over at Teal'c who was just reaching the ground a couple of feet to his right. "Yeah, we're down." He paused and glanced around the rocky ground, half in hope and half in dread, before adding, "There's no sign of her." 

Daniel's radio clicked. "If she landed in the river, she could be down-stream." 

"Yeah, roger that. Keep your ears open, Daniel. Any sign of another storm, you let us know." 

"Will do," came the reply. "And good luck, Jack." 

O'Neill nodded, despite Daniel being far out of sight. "I'll keep you apprised," he said. "O'Neill out." 

Turning, he saw Teal'c standing, staring down at the snow covered rocks, his face thoughtful. Jack moved to stand at his side and paused for a moment to look out over the rushing river. It was white and frothy where it raced over rapids just a little down-stream from where the bridge had once hung...if Sam had hit the water she wouldn't have had an easy ride. God... Suddenly he was overwhelmed with the need to see her face again. He couldn't accept that she'd been swallowed by this icy water, ripped away from them and left to die on this cold, hard planet - he had to find her. Whatever happened, he had to find her and bring her home where it was warm. 

"O'Neill," Teal'c said then, rousing him. "We must begin our search." 

"Yeah," he said, looking away from the river and into his friend's grim face. "I'll look down-stream, you check up-stream - just in case. Keep me posted." 

Teal'c nodded. "I shall," he agreed. And then, cocking his head to one side, he said, "If Major Carter survived the fall, it is likely that she would have sought shelter. We must pay particular attention to the walls of this ravine - anywhere she may have found refuge." 

"Good point," Jack agreed, appreciating his friend's determined optimism. "I'll check every inch." 

"As will I." 

And with one final nod, that needed no words to emphasize their shared determination and resolve, Teal'c headed up-river and O'Neill down. 

*** 

Pain woke her, dragging her reluctantly from sleep and back into icy reality. Blearily she peered across the rocky floor of the small cave she'd found and out into a bright world of snow. All she could see was white and she was too cold to move, too tired to do anything but lay on the cold, hard ground and wait - for rescue or death, which ever came first. Her half-eaten Snickers lay close by, but the pangs of hunger had long since faded and the effort of moving enough to try and eat it was too much. Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice screamed at her to move, to try and make a fire, to do something.... But she ignored it. She was too tired, too cold. All she wanted to do was close her eyes again and lose herself in dark oblivion. She'd never been so cold, not even in Antarctica. But then, of course, she hadn't been alone.... 

Thinking back, she realized that had probably been the moment when it had all begun. Seeing him face death so bravely, seeing him struggle to support her spirits despite his own pain had shown her the real man behind his bravado and irreverence. She'd been so fiercely proud of him, so ashamed of her own failure. But not this time. This time she'd been the one to play the hero and pay the price - she'd got Tasha home to him. She'd promised him she would take care of her, and she had. She'd saved him from another loss, returned to him the woman he loved and she was proud of herself. And the funny thing was, she didn't begrudge the price she was paying. Even paralyzed with cold, feeling herself slipping towards the final, cold clutches of death, she didn't regret what she'd done - she could find a certain, twisted nobility to it. She loved him and she'd given him back his chance at happiness, what more could she do? 

Her thoughts floated dream-like through her mind, pulling her away from reality. And she followed them down hazy roads of memory, to times when she laughed and was warm, leaving behind the hard realities of life for the soft oblivion of death. 

*** 

Jack kept his pace steady, not rushing, not dawdling. His eyes roved the ground, the banks of the river, the rocks at the base of the cliff, looking for anything that might give him a clue. But the further he went, the lower his heart sank - how far could she have been washed down-stream and still survived? "Come on, Carter," he muttered to himself, "give me some kind of sign, will ya?" 

He stopped dead as the words left his mouth on a puff of misty breath, for there ahead of him, almost buried in snow, was something very, very familiar. He lurched forward and bent down, pulling the Carter-sized boot out of the snow. His heart was racing as he stared at it, wondering what the hell it meant. Boots didn't just fall off. No way. Absolutely no way. So that meant.... His stomach flipped over as he keyed his radio. "Daniel - I've found one of Carter's boots. I think she made it out of the river alive." 

There was a burst of static, and then. "Thank God! Any other signs of her?" 

Jack scanned the area hurriedly, "No. Nothing. I'm gonna keep heading down-stream. O'Neill out." 

Oddly reluctant to drop her boot back into the snow, he tied the laces to his pack and carried on with it bumping against his side as he walked. His heart was pounding now, and he found it hard to keep his pace slow - she'd been alive! She'd survived the fall, and if she could survive that then...what? He frowned as the burst of euphoria began to fade. There had to be a reason she'd discarded her boot, and the only one that made a shred of sense was that she'd been injured and unable to wear it. Which meant that, whatever had happened, she'd been out there for coming on twenty-four hours, injured and wet from the river. The chances of her still being alive were...thin. He knew that. In his head he knew that, but his heart was still beating with hope - almost as if it knew something that he didn't. 

Despite himself his pace had quickened, his eyes trying to take in everything at once. There was no trail to follow, the snow was too recent for that, but he knew, he just knew she had to be near - how far could she had gotten with an injured leg or foot? "Carter!" he yelled out suddenly, his voice echoing loudly against the rocky walls. "Sam!" 

Nothing. 

And then...what was that? He stopped dead, looking. A stick was propped up against the wall of the ravine. There was nothing odd about that, only it looked almost too deliberate to be natural - as if someone had just left it there. He moved closer slowly, his eyes fixed on the stick until he realized that he was missing the big picture, for next to the stick gaped a small, black hole - a cave. 

His heart jolted painfully and he knew with utter certainty that he'd found her, but for a moment he couldn't move - she was in there, but what would he find? What if he was too late, what if she'd been waiting for rescue and he'd failed her....? His heart quailed at the thought, but despite his cold fear he jerked into a run, dropping to his knees the moment he reached the cave and grabbing for his flashlight. He shone it inside and his breath caught in his throat as he saw her milky face lying not more than a couple of feet inside, her blue lips slightly open and her eyes closed where she lay curled up into a little ball. Next to her lay a pathetic pile of wood, untouched by flame, and the remains of a candy bar discarded a few inches from her face. "Carter," he whispered feeling hot tears rise to his eyes. He was too late. "Please...." 

And suddenly he was moving, stripping his pack from his back so that he could squeeze through the small entrance and crawl to her side. "Carter," he snapped, reaching out and touching her - she was icy. "Come on, Carter," he implored her, "come on..." He pulled off his glove, fumbling for her throat, seeking out the briefest flutter of life. "Please, Sam," he whispered, "don't do this. Don't...." 

Pulse. 

His breath caught. 

Pulse. Pulse. Slow, faint...a pulse flickered beneath his fingers. She was alive. 

"Yes," he breathed, his voice catching with emotion as an exquisite relief washed through his soul. "Oh, thank God." The utter joy of having her there, and alive, drove him into frantic action - he felt alive again for the first time since Daniel had told him of her accident. The world bloomed from black and white into Technicolor. He had to get her out of there, back to the gate. But first, he had to get her warm. 

Moving his hand from her throat, he briefly patted her down, searching for broken bones before he moved her. Her left ankle was swollen and bootless, obviously broken, but other than that she seemed okay. And if she'd made it this far, he figured it would be safe enough to move her. Crawling to the mouth of the cave he dragged his pack inside and pulled out one of the thermal blankets, laying it on the ground before gently rolling Carter onto it. But as he moved her he realized how cold and wet her clothes were and knew he had to remove them. He hesitated for a moment, and then chastised himself for his idiocy and set about stripping her - she'd never warm up if he didn't, and it was about the first thing they taught you about treating hypothermia. And, he had to admit, there was nothing remotely unprofessional about his feelings at that moment - she was freezing to death and he was doing what he could to save her. 

He got as far as her underwear and stopped...okay, so maybe there were limits to his professionalism. Hurriedly he started pulling his spare sweater over her head, tugging it down over her chest and arms before wrapping the rest of her in the thermal blanket. Then he reached for his sleeping bag. Getting rid of wet clothing was the first thing they taught you about hypothermia, the second was sharing body heat. Knowing he had no choice, and yet still feeling bizarrely self-conscious, Jack started to untie his boots with one hand while he keyed his radio with the other. "Daniel!" he called excitedly. "Do you read?" 

"Yeah..." came his reply, more faintly than before. 

"I've found her!" Jack grinned. "She's alive! I need you to get a med team - tell them she's hypothermic and has a broken ankle. Do you copy?" 

Jack swore he could hear the excited whoop drifting down from atop the cliff. "On my way, Jack!" Daniel replied wildly. "Hang on - hang on! Keep her warm!" 

"Just hurry," Jack snapped back as he released his hold on the radio, pulled his boots off and unzipped his jacket. Then he wiggled Sam's inert body into the sleeping bag, barely noticing the pale expanse of her long legs, focussing exclusively on the need to warm her. Once she was inside he paused, looking again at her pale, lifeless face. So cold. But alive. She was alive - he had a second chance. Thank God. 

Then, moving carefully so as not to jostle her injured ankle, he squeezed himself into the sleeping bag at her side, sliding an arm around her back and pulling her gently on top of him, hoping to absorb most of the chill from the ground and to keep her as warm as possible. Her head sagged heavily against his chest, but he could feel the soft tickle of her breath against his neck and with each small breath knew that she was still alive. 

His arms pulled her close, holding her tightly - perhaps more tightly than necessary, but he couldn't have cared less. Only hours ago, minutes ago, he'd thought she was lost to him forever and now here he lay, his back protesting like crazy at the cold, hard ground, with   
Carter in his arms, so close he could feel her cold, damp hair against his face. He moved his hands gently over her back, stroking, comforting both her and himself. "It's gonna be okay," he told her quietly, lifting one hand to her face and pushing a damp lock of hair from her icy forehead. "You're gonna be okay. They'll be here soon. Everything's gonna be okay. You're coming home, Carter. You're coming home...." 

*** 

The first time Sam woke the pain was still there, but there was something else too. A new sensation, one barely remembered, like a shadow of memory...warmth. Sam's eyes fluttered open. She was still in the cave, but something was different. Weakly she tried to lift her head, only to feel something restraining her. For a moment she panicked, until a quiet voice murmured, "Sam?" Confused and disorientated she struggled to move, but her ankle jarred and she whimpered with the sudden flash of pain. "Shh," the voice said again, "don't move. It's okay. You're gonna be okay." 

It sounded like the Colonel. 

Lifting her head, Sam suddenly found herself face to face with O'Neill. She seemed to be lying on top of him. "What...?" she asked, looking around, struggling to make sense of what was   
happening. 

"I've got you," he whispered softly. "Lie down. Rest. You're going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay." 

She did as she was told, too cold and exhausted to do anything else, and felt his arms tighten around her. Her eyes drifted closed again, not entirely sure if she was awake or asleep, if this was reality or some hypothermic delusion. But whether it was real or not, the sensation of being held so closely brought her comfort, despite the numbing chill that penetrated to her core and the fiery pain in her ankle. She felt herself relax into the dream, drifting away once more into darkness. But this time she thought she heard words following her, anchoring her to life with their steady strength. "I've got you, Sam," they told her quietly as a warm hand caressed her icy cheek. "I've got you...." 

*** 

The gate room was silent and alive with tension as General Hammond stood at the back of the room, staring at the open Stargate. At the foot of the ramp Doctor Fraiser was ready to pounce with a gurney and an assortment of medical equipment and thermal blankets. Her face was impassive, determined and professional. Only her eyes showed the volatile mixture of hope and fear that suffused them all. Carter was alive, albeit barely. Against the odds, this most indomitable of women had clung to life until her team could bring her home. His heart swelled with pride, and hope - and fear that they still might be too late. Narrowing his gaze to the gate he willed it to move, to disgorge the men and the woman for whom they were waiting.... 

And, as if in answer to his silent order, the Stargate shivered and Daniel Jackson stepped through, barely visible beneath his heavy clothing. "We've got her!" he announced excitedly, backing hurriedly away from the gate as O'Neill and Ferretti followed with Carter strapped onto a stretcher between them and swathed in a mountain of blankets. 

O'Neill's eyes found Fraiser's instantly and in that silent moment of communication the Doctor dashed up the ramp, rummaging through the blankets on the stretcher to find Carter's face. Hammond stepped forward, but no one had time for him and the last thing he wanted to do was get in the way of the medics. "I tried to warm her as much as I could," the Colonel was saying as he carried Carter down towards the waiting gurney. "She was unconscious, only surfaced once the whole time - not sure she knew what the hell was going on." 

"Did she recognize you?" Fraiser asked, hovering as O'Neill and Ferretti lowered the stretcher to the floor and started unstrapping Carter. 

"No. I don't know," came the reply. "She asked what was going on, then went back to sleep." He paused, glancing up worriedly at the Doctor, "Or whatever this is." 

Fraiser just nodded. "If she regained consciousness, that's good. So she was out there how long?" 

"Thirty-four hours," O'Neill replied. The medics were moving in now and he backed away with obvious reluctance, his eyes riveted on the pale form of his friend. Now that the blankets had been removed, Hammond got his first real glimpse of Carter. Her skin was white, almost translucent. Her lips were blue, her fingers and toes dead-looking. Dressed only in a large sweater, she looked obscenely vulnerable and he had to grit his teeth against the image, his paternal instincts kicking in with a vengeance. "She was wet through," O'Neill said then, voice low as the medics lifted Carter onto the gurney. Her head lolled awkwardly and Hammond saw O'Neill wince at the sight, starting forward for a moment before obviously thinking better of it. "I tried to warm her up, but she was so cold. Wet through...frozen." 

For a moment Fraiser rested a sympathetic hand on his arm. "You did all the right things, sir," she assured him. "We'll get her warmed up now and see where we stand." 

And with that she was off, issuing orders like a General at the height of battle. And a formidable one at that. After the doors had swung closed behind her, O'Neill visibly sagged, pulling the hat from his head and dropping down to sit on the edge of the ramp. Hammond watched him for a moment, before he said, "Good work, son." 

The Colonel didn't move immediately, but when he eventually raised his head there was a defeated look in his eyes. "Ya think?" he muttered dourly. 

"You saved her life," Hammond reminded him, somewhat perplexed by O'Neill's dark mood. 

He nodded. "This time." 

Oh, so that was it. Mortality. "This is the only time that counts," he said more gently. "Go get yourselves warmed up," he added, glancing up at where Jackson and Teal'c stood wearily on the ramp. "And thank God you found her in time." 

Nodding slowly, O'Neill rose to his feet. "I already have, sir," he assured him quietly. "But...," he sighed and shook his head, unwilling or unable to continue. Hammond frowned, uneasy with what he saw - Jack was usually the first to bounce back once the crisis was over, and while Carter wasn't quite out of the woods this pensiveness was unusual. He wondered what it meant, and he was fearful of what it might mean.... Jack had the look of a man reassessing his priorities. 

Moving down the ramp, Teal'c placed a heavy hand on O'Neill's shoulder. "We must hurry," he said, propelling his friend into motion. "We should be ready to greet Major Carter when she returns to consciousness." 

A brief flicker of a smile touched Jack's lips as he began to walk. "Yeah," he said, shaking himself a little, "we should." 

Hammond watched them leave in silence, his joy at Carter's almost-safe return tempered somewhat by his new unease about O'Neill. He knew enough about the ambiguous nature of Jack's relationship with Carter to understand that this near-miss could be provoking something of an epiphany in the man. He just hoped that the Air Force, and the SGC, didn't end up the loser as a consequence. 

*** 

Sitting in her office, Janet yawned and reached for her coffee as she leaned back in her chair and gazed down the silent infirmary. Sam was its only occupant, her body temperature warming slowly towards normal, but as yet still unconscious. Janet had chased most of the visitors away, but O'Neill remained, as stubborn and intransigent as rock. She watched him now, in the semi-darkness of the infirmary, as he sat at her side, his elbows resting on his knees and his hand toying endlessly with something she couldn't see. A pen, perhaps? He was deep in thought, lost. And she wondered what he was brooding about as he sat there in silent vigil. He'd said virtually nothing since they'd talked in the 'gate room. Daniel had asked an avalanche of questions when he'd visited earlier, but O'Neill had been as silent as Teal'c, simply watching Sam sleep with an intense but inscrutable look. 

And even now that he was alone with her, he didn't move. Knowing how deep his feelings had been for Sam - at least at one point - Janet wouldn't have been surprised if he'd reached out to touch her. But he didn't, he just sat there at her side, a constant presence, yet far away in his own thoughts. She sighed and looked away, about to get up and check Sam's vitals once more when a gentle knock at the door surprised her. It was late, past midnight. "Come in," she said quietly, running a hand over her hair in a half-hearted attempt to straighten it. 

As the door opened she was surprised to see Tasha Greene standing there, her wide dark eyes bright and inquisitive. And laced with a touch of irritation, she thought. 

"Hi," the woman greeted her, glancing immediately down the infirmary to where O'Neill sat. Her face hardened slightly, but she managed a smile as she turned back to Janet. "I thought I'd stop by to see how Sam's doing." 

Janet raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced that Sam was the object of her interest. Still, such personal matters were none of her concern and so, with a professional coolness, she said, "That's kind of you. We're still warming her, but she's responding well and is out of danger. She's got a touch of frost-bite on one foot, but I expect her to make a full recovery." 

Tasha smiled, looking relieved. "Thank God," she sighed, and for a moment Janet repented her initial, and somewhat uncharitable, assessment of her motives. "I don't know how I would have lived with myself if she'd died." 

"No," Janet replied carefully, "it would have been hard - on all of us. Sam's a big part of our team here." 

Tasha's eyes drifted back to O'Neill, sharpening. "Jack obviously thinks so," she said quietly and with all the softness of steel. 

Janet said nothing, refusing to be drawn into this little triangle. "I'll tell him you're here," she offered, heading towards the door. But Tasha stopped her with a touch on her arm. 

"It's okay," she said, "I'll go down there. I want to see Sam, if that's okay?" 

Janet hesitated, glancing once more at Jack's brooding figure. He didn't look like he wanted company, but she wasn't his guardian. With a brief nod she said, "For a couple of minutes - don't disturb Sam though." 

Tasha gave another tight smile and nodded. "Thanks," she said, straightening her shoulders and heading down the ward to where Jack sat still deep in thought. 

*** 

He couldn't stop thinking about holding her. 

Fraiser said she was going to be okay, and although Sam's face was still and pale he knew in his heart that the Doc was right. Carter was going to make it. She was back, and everything could return to normal. Only it couldn't. Everything had changed during those few terrible hours when he'd thought she was lost. It was as if the terror of losing her had cracked open his heart and now it refused to be shut; his feelings for her were overflowing andwere completely out of his control. He loved her, utterly, completely and with a depth that was frightening. It was all he could do to sit there, turning the pen over and over in his hands, when his very soul was demanding that he pulled her into his arms once more and held her   
close to his heart. He was aching for her, and the need to be close consumed him entirely - it was all he could think about, all that was important in his life. 

It had been hours since he'd reluctantly crawled out of the sleeping bag, shivering with the cold and with a strange sense of loss as he was forced to surrender his hold on her. But the memories were so vivid that even now, in the warm sterility of the infirmary, he could the feel her in his arms, feel the weight of her head against his chest, and the sense of wholeness he'd enjoyed for the almost two hours it had taken rescue to reach them. Lying there in the cold,   
dark cave, holding her close, he had found an unaccustomed sense of peace. She'd stirred once, panicked and disoriented, but he'd soothed her and she'd relaxed against him. His arms had tightened around her, his lips pressing reassuringly against her cold, damp hair, and in that moment he had known that it was right. Duty, regulations and honor may stand between them, but in his heart he had known it was right - nothing since his marriage had felt so perfect. 

And that was the problem. How could he just carry on? How could he get past this? He looked up and into her face, peaceful and beautiful. He loved her. In truth, he'd known it for a long time, but he'd done a good job of burying the knowledge beneath the rules, the regulations, and his own, personal barriers. But her loss had knocked all his carefully constructed defenses aside as easily as a house of cards, and he found himself unable - and unwilling - to reconstruct them. 

Life was too short. And once again the memory of Major Coburn came to mind. He'd walked away for the sake of his wife, his family.... 

"Jack?" A hand on his shoulder startled him, but he hid it along with his irritation as he turned his head and looked up. 

"Tasha. What are you doing here?" 

Her smile was feigned, forced. "Looking for you," she told him, her fingers squeezing his shoulder. He resisted the temptation to shrug off her touch - she deserved better. "I hear Sam's going to be fine," she added, with obvious relief. "Thank God." 

"Yeah," he nodded, turning back towards her sleeping form. "Thank God." 

There was a long pause before she said, "You should get some sleep. They said I can leave now, since the inquiry isn't happening. Come with me?" 

He shook his head. "No. I'm gonna stay for a while." 

Tasha sighed and move around, crouching down so that they were almost face to face. He turned his eyes on her, but it felt like looking at a stranger. "Jack," she said, quietly, "you're exhausted. Sam's fine, but you need to rest. Come on. We'll talk." She reached for his hand, but he snatched it away rather more quickly than necessary and a hurt look flashed across her face. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I just...I need to be here, right now. That's all." 

"Why?" she asked. "She's fine. Doctor Fraiser said so. What's the point of just sitting here?" 

What's the point? The answer was in his mind instantly, a hidden truth frozen for years and only now emerging from the ice. What's the point? The point is I love her and I want to be with her. The answer was clear in his head and his heart, but on his lips he had nothing for her. What could he say? 

Fortunately he was spared the need for an answer for at that moment Carter stirred and everything but her left his mind. He jumped to his feet, moving to the side of the bed as her eyes fluttered open for a moment. "Hey," he said quietly. 

Turning her head slowly she stared, blinking as she tried to focus. "Colonel?" 

"Yeah," he smiled, the sound of her voice clutching at his heart. "It's me. You're in the infirmary." 

A slight frown touched her brow and she struggled to sit up. "What happened?" 

"You fell," he reminded her as he reached out and pushed her gently back down. "You broke your ankle and got pretty cold." He let his hand linger on her shoulder as he spoke, relishing the chance to touch her and reassure himself that she was warm and safe. 

If she noticed, she didn't object. Her eyes closed, but not in sleep. "The bridge...," she sighed. "Right." And then she abruptly opened her eyes again, looking right at him with a sudden urgency, "Did Tasha make it okay? " 

His stomach twisted with a strange guilt at her obvious concern - she didn't realize she'd risked her life for a lie. "She's fine," he assured her awkwardly. "Thanks to you." 

A pale smile touched Carter's lips and the urgency faded. "I'm glad she's okay," she said sleepily. "I didn't want you to lose someone else important." 

Jack winced at that, his need for honesty too hard to resist. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "But I almost did," he murmured emotionally. "I almost lost you...Sam." 

She smiled at that, dozy again and not seeming to understand him as she reached up a heavy-looking hand and covered his fingers where they lay on her shoulder. "Then I'm glad you found me, sir." 

"So am I," he replied, taking her hand in both his own. "No one gets left behind. Remember?" 

Her smile broadened sleepily, even as her eyes drifted slowly closed. "It's the only thing I thought about the whole time I was waiting for you. I knew you wouldn't stop until you found me." 

Jack was silent as Carter slipped into sleep, sitting quietly and still holding her hand. But his thoughts had turned sour as images flashed unbidden into his mind - Carter hurt and afraid, crawling through the snow to find shelter, with nothing but her faith in him to keep her warm. And where was he...? In Tasha's arms, in a parody of love-making. He felt sick at his own betrayal. 'I knew you wouldn't stop until you found me.' He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered her hand back to the bed, still clinging to it. This was where the lies had led him - into the arms of a woman he didn't love because it was easier than dealing with the truth. Well, he couldn't lie any longer, not to himself, to her or to the world. She had to know everything and from there he would.... 

"Colonel O'Neill?" It was Fraiser, standing on the other side of the bed and looking at him curiously. 

"Huh?" 

Her eyes drifted momentarily down to the bed, where his hand lay clasped with Carter's, and then she asked, "Has she woken up yet?" 

His instinct, born of years of hiding, was to snatch his hand away and fall back into the old lie he knew that Janet would perpetuate. But he didn't. He forced himself to keep hold of her hand as he rose to his feet, aware that he must look awkward but deciding that he might as well start with the truth here and now. He gave her a lopsided smile. "She did wake up for a little," he said. "Guess I should've called you in." 

Fraiser raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you should have," she said, bending over the machine that beeped quietly next to Carter's bed. Her face relaxed a little as she read the details. "Was she coherent?" she asked then, making a couple of quick notes on Carter's chart. "Did she know where she was?" 

"Yeah. We had a little conversation - she remembered what happened." 

That pleased her and she smiled, her eyes once more darting to their clasped hands. "That's good news," she said. "Her core temperature is normal now, so aside from the ankle she's fine." 

He smiled back at her, for once allowing his relief to show on his face. "Thank you," he said, glancing down at Carter once more. "I thought I'd lost her." 

For a moment, Fraiser said nothing as she flipped over a couple of pages on Carter's file, frowning slightly. And then she muttered something under her breath - "That's just what Sam thought." 

"Excuse me?" 

She glanced up with a bright, fake smile. "Did you see Doctor Greene?" she asked, although he wasn't entirely sure this was a change of subject. "She came in about twenty minutes ago." 

Startled, Jack turned. Tasha was gone and he had no idea when she'd left; from the moment Carter had opened her eyes he'd been oblivious to everything else. Shit. There were better ways to break up with people! He frowned down at his hand, still clutching Carter's, and said, "She was here. I should go find her. Explain." 

"It's late," Fraiser pointed out with an unusual degree of sympathy in her tone. "You should get some sleep first, Colonel. Doctor's orders." 

She was looking at him now with a warmth that seemed to be approval, as if he were some kind of sinner who had at last seen the light. Perhaps he was. "You're right," he said, dropping Carter's hand reluctantly, his fingers lingering over hers. "I should get some sleep - tomorrow's going to be an interesting day." 

*** 

Sam was bored. It didn't take long. One day in the infirmary and she was going out of her mind. The guys had all been in to see her, of course, but they had work to do and couldn't stay long. Daniel and Teal'c had promised to come back later, but the Colonel hadn't. His visit had been the shortest of them all, and strangely awkward. 

He hadn't said much the whole time he sat uneasily in the chair by her bed, but had fixed her with some pretty intense looks that had turned her inside out. She'd had the feeling that he was examining something about her that she'd rather keep hidden and had been alternately excited and uncomfortable with the feeling of emotional nakedness. Memories of being held by him, pressed against him as she slept, had only helped confuse the matter more and she'd felt herself less able than usual to find their familiar banter. As the awkward silence had stretched painfully between them, O'Neill had mercifully broken it with a couple of lame jokes about having to get her out of her clothes which, despite her professional intentions, had brought a flush to her cheek. But other than that he'd shown more of an interest in whether or not she was going to spend her sick-leave at home or on base than in how she was actually feeling after her ordeal. Typical O'Neill, you never quite knew where he was coming from. 

She sighed and shook her head, picking up one of the books Daniel had brought by and trying not to regret that her memories of sharing body heat with the Colonel were so hazy. But her eyes glazed as the letters ran together into a blurry alphabet soup, leaving her mind free to wander among sensations of strong arms holding her, the slow, steady beat of his heart close to hers.... 

"Sam?" 

Flushing guiltily, she glanced up to see Tasha standing a few feet from her bed. Her blush intensified as she was seized with the strange idea that the woman could somehow read her inappropriate thoughts. Forcing her discomfort aside, she gave a cautious smile in greeting. "Doctor Greene," she said, "how are you?" 

Tasha looked a little sheepish as she moved closer to the bed. "I'm fine," she assured her. "Thanks to you." There was a pause, and then, "I actually came to apologize for my behavior on the mission. I was wrong to try to cross the bridge and I'm sorry." 

Sam appraised her coolly, but it wasn't in her nature to hold grudges so after a moment she nodded. "Accepted," she said. "And I'm glad you're okay. I can't imagine what the Colonel would have thought of me if I'd lost you. 

"No ," Tasha agreed quietly, a flat smile on her lips that didn't once touch her eyes, "I don't suppose you can." Then, in a voice as flat as her smile she added, " Jack's opinion is very important to you, isn't it?" 

Sam froze, uneasily. "Ah, yeah. Of course," she muttered, hoping to kill the subject quickly. "He's a great officer - I've learned a lot." 

Tasha, however, seemed unconvinced. She was at Sam's bedside now, her well manicured nails glinting red in the infirmary lights. Her dark eyes were bright, but bright like sunshine on snow, glittering frostily. "Come on, Samantha," she said in a friendly tone that made Sam shiver, "we both know your feelings for Jack go much deeper than that." 

"Do we?" she replied, anger rising at the insinuation. 

"I'm not blind," Tasha replied in that same, cool voice. "And you're not as subtle as you think you are." 

Sam swallowed hard. "I don't know what you mean," she said firmly. " Nothing has ever, or will ever, happen between us." 

"I know that," Tasha replied, smiling as she slowly pulled up a chair and sat down. Sam cursed beneath her breath, wishing she could just get up and end the conversation. But a drip taped to her hand and her broken ankle effectively immobilized her. "Actually Sam, I'm here to do give you some sisterly advice." 

"Really?" Yeah, right. 

Tasha nodded, her dark curls bobbing with the movement. "Get over him," she said. "He's not interested in you anymore." Sam did her best not to react, but something must have shown on her face because Tasha carried on with growing momentum. "You're not his type - you're too cold, too analytical, too bound up by the regulations. They strangle you, Sam. Jack needs someone more like himself, someone not afraid to take risks - personal and physical - someone open, loving, emotional." She smiled and ran a hand through her hair, "I know he's charismatic and easy on the eye, but, Sam, he's really not your type. You'd be better off aiming for Daniel Jackson - you have much more in common." 

Sam just stared, torn between mortification, hurt and blind fury. In the end anger saved the day, cold, hard anger. "First off," she began icily, "I am not 'aiming' at anyone. Unlike some people, it seems, I don't spend my life chasing men! And secondly, my relationship with Colonel O'Neill is between us and none of your goddamn business!" 

Tasha just shrugged. "I'm just trying to stop you making a fool of yourself, yearning hopelessly after Jack." She rose to her feet, cool and collected. "Oh, and just so youknow, the night you were missing on P3X-832 I got to see exactly how narrow those military beds are for two - despite the regulations." She smiled. "Guess Jack didn't miss you that much." 

Sam almost laughed. "I don't believe you," she retorted. "I know what the Colonel's like when one of his team is missing - I've seen it. And I don't know what you're trying to do here, but I've heard enough. Just get out." 

"Like I said," Tasha replied walking smoothly away from the bed, "I'm just trying to do you a favor. And if you don't want to believe me, that's fine. You can always ask Jack - if you dare." 

Sam's mouth was open, a sharp retort on her lips, when a voice from the door said, "Ask me what?" 

Tasha froze, her smile cracking like breaking ice. She turned to face him woodenly, fear in her eyes. "Nothing you need to know about," she said with synthetic humor. 

The Colonel didn't seem convinced or amused as he stepped further into the room. "Carter?" he asked, searching her face. 

She met his gaze and held it, not knowing what to do. "It's not something appropriate for us to discuss, sir," she told him with tight-laced formality. "Perhaps you and Doctor Greene can discuss it...elsewhere?" 

O'Neill's whole face tightened with a tension she recognized as anger, although unless you knew him well you would never see it. His eyes bored into her, full of something intense but unidentifiable. "Okay," he said after a moment, tearing his eyes from her face and turning towards Tasha. "Why don't we do that?" 

Tasha tossed her head backward, sending her curls swaying, but was unable to shake the appearance of guilt. "It's nothing secret," she assured Jack, moving towards and past him. "I was just telling Sam how we spent the night while she was on P3X-832." 

Sam was expecting to see confusion on his face, instead she saw it pale with anger as he reached out and seized Tasha's arm as she headed for the door. In a low voice he said, "Why?" 

Tasha shrugged. "Because it's true." 

He didn't deny it. She was waiting for the denial, for the anger, but it never came. He just dropped her arm and let her go, her departure plunging them both into silence as he stood staring at the floor. For her part, Sam was too focused on keeping her white-hot outrage at bay to think about how her heart was breaking. She'd been alone, hurt, half-dead and he'd been....? God! If it had been Daniel out there he'd have been camped in the gate-room - hell, she'd seen him do it! But with her lost, all he could do was jump into bed with the woman who'd practically killed her?! The betrayal was deep and sickening. She couldn't look at him and lowered her eyes to her hands, twisting tightly in her lap, as she kept her emotions under control with a superhuman strength of will. 

After what seemed like an age he cleared his throat. Sam closed her eyes, wishing she could close her ears too. She couldn't bare to hear an explanation. In her mind the same words revolved in an endless, urgent mantra, 'Act professional, act professional, act professional.' 

O'Neill's voice broke into her thoughts. "I don't know exactly what she told you," he began. 

She cut him off immediately. Act professional. "It doesn't matter. It's none of my business. Sir." 

"Yes it is," he said quietly. "She had no right to tell you that and I don't want you to think that I wasn't.... God, Carter! We thought you were dead. I needed...." 

A bitter laugh escaped. "Oh, well, if you thought I was dead.....!" 

He was across the room in two strides and at her bedside. She turned away, struggling to keep her emotions in check. "Sam, I swear.... Sam, look at me."

She couldn't. Bitter tears were filling her eyes now, threatening to leak from beneath her eyelids. "Sir, this is a completely inappropriate conversation," she whispered. "Please just stop." 

"I want to explain...." 

"No," she insisted, raising a hand to stop him. "I don't want to hear it. Please...." 

There was a long pause, but he didn't move, standing there shifting awkwardly. He cleared his throat a couple of times, but no words followed. At last she was forced to turn back around and meet his uneasy, nervous gaze. She'd never seen him so off-balance. His eyes sought hers immediately, searching for something in her face. She didn't know if he'd found it but he did speak. "Sam," he said, frowning, "I...I want you to know...I mean, I want to say that...." He cleared his throat. "Okay, I'm not...that is, I should.... Ah, hell." 

She raised her eyebrows, somewhat surprised by his extreme lack of eloquence. "I think," she said quietly, "maybe you should just shut up." 

His eyes widened. "Shut up...?" 

"Sir," she added, turning away again and pulling her blankets up over her shoulder. "I'm tired, I need to rest." 

"Sam...." 

"Please," she whispered, screwing her eyes shut tightly, "just go." 

But he didn't. She could feel his presence like a heat on the back of her neck, burning into her mind. Deliberately she slowed her breathing, hoping he would think she had fallen asleep. She should have known better. He spoke again, in a low voice, talking to the back of her head. "I'm no good with words, Sam," he said softly. "I never know the right thing to say. But I'm gonna make this right, I swear. Everything's screwed up, but I'm gonna make it right." 

She had no idea what he meant, but the gentle concern in his voice, edged with adamant determination, touched her and she felt tears leak through her lashes. That soft voice, that gentle tone - it touched her every time, reaching through anger and betrayal and speaking to her heart. Slowly she rolled over and opened her eyes. 

But he was gone. 

*** 

Jack didn't stop until he stood outside his quarters. He was slightly breathless, with anger and a thousand other emotions that rattled through his mind, and on the verge of losing control. But he knew himself well enough to pause and regain his internal balance before he went inside. Because he knew she'd be waiting for him and rage would do him no good. 

Taking a deep breath he tried the door. It was open and as he stepped inside he saw Tasha sitting on the edge of his bed, head in hands and shoulders shaking. Crap, she was crying. He hated that. 

She looked up as the door clicked shut, blinking wide red-rimmed eyes at him. "I'm sorry," she said immediately. He seemed to be hearing a lot of that from her lately. 

Leaning back against the door he folded his arms. "Why d'ya do it?" 

"I didn't mean to," she whispered, hanging her head. "It just...slipped out. I was angry." 

He bristled. "At Carter? What the hell for?" 

"Don't you know?" she whispered, staring down at the floor. 

Well, he had an idea. "Carter and I aren't involved, if that's what you're thinking." 

She shook her head. "No," she sighed. "It's not." She looked up then, a painful smile touching her lips. "Samantha would never break those regulations, would she?" 

There was a bright intelligence in her face, and he knew that she could see into his heart as if it were laid open like a book. Denial was pointless. "No," he agreed, "she wouldn't." 

Tasha nodded. "Would you?" 

"No." 

She gave a dark laugh. "Forbidden love," she sniffed. "That's tough to compete with." He made no reply, unsure, as always, what to say. Seeing him pause, Tasha rose to her feet. "We're good together, Jack," she said, walking slowly towards him until they were practically toe to toe. "Sam might be off-limits, but I'm not...." 

For a heartbeat she simply stared at him before she leaned forward and brushed her lips over his, waiting for him to respond. But there was nothing there. Jack closed his hands around her shoulders and slowly, gently he pushed her away. "I'm sorry, Tasha," he said, wincing at the hurt in her eyes, "I can't." 

"Why not?" 

"Because," he said stepping out from between her and the door and circling further into the room, "this won't work." 

"Yes it will," she insisted, turning around to face him. "It was working fine. It was great! You know it was." 

But he shook his head, struggling to find the right words. He didn't want to hurt her, but what choice did he have? It was all about truth. She deserved the truth. "I just don't feel...the same. I'm sorry." 

Tasha stared at him, raking a hand through her tangle of hair. Hair he'd caressed and kissed.... "So you'd rather be alone, pining away over Sam Carter, than be with me?" she asked, incredulous. "Am I that awful?" 

"No," he assured her immediately, reaching out a hand to touch her arm. He hated this. "You're beautiful, smart, fun.... You're great." 

Her eyes filled with angry tears and she tugged her arm from his grip. "Not that great, obviously," she snapped, pulling a crumpled Kleenex from her pocket and wiping her eyes. 

"It's not you," he assured her. "It's me. It's...Carter." 

She peered at him through hurt, puffy eyes. "You love her," she spat, making it sound like an accusation. 

He flinched at her venom, but refused to lie anymore. "Yeah," he replied, straightening his shoulders. "I do. I'm sorry, Tasha. This is all my fault." 

"How long?" she demanded. 

"What?" 

"How long have you loved her?" 

Jack frowned awkwardly, not sure he even knew. "That's not really the point, is it?" 

"Isn't it?" she snapped, anger building over tears. "Did you already love her when we met? When you were with me, did you think about her? Did you wish I was her - pretend I was her? Did you?" 

"No!" he objected, although he knew the denial sounded false; there was more than a little truth to her accusations. "No," he repeated more quietly, hoping to soften this for her. "Tasha - I care about you. I just...I can't help feeling what I do for Carter, and God knows I've tried!" 

Her face grew calmer, icy. "You tried," she repeated with a small nod of understanding. "So that's what I was, is it? Something to help you get over her? Christ, Jack, if I'd known you were on the rebound I wouldn't have gone near you!" 

"I'm sorry," he repeated, forcing himself to meet her angry glare without flinching. "It wasn't deliberate - I've been so screwed up about this these last few years...." 

Tasha's eyes widened incredulously. "Years?" 

"Yeah," he sighed, almost realizing it for the first time himself. "I guess." 

"Jesus," she growled, "you are fucked up." 

He just shrugged. "I was," he agreed. 

Tasha sniffed. "So," she said bitterly, "This is it then, is it? 'So long and thanks for all the fish'?" 

Huh? "Fish?" 

She scowled. "Is this it?" she repeated with deadly slowness. "Is it over?" 

Taking a deep breath and swallowing his guilt he quietly sighed, "Yeah, it is. I'm sorry." 

Her face hardened, like ice forming on water. "No you're not," she snapped, pushing past him towards the door. "Not yet." 

It sounded like a threat, and his hand lashed out in an instinctive response to seize her arm. "What the hell does that mean?" 

Her dark eyes were bright with defiance. "See if you can guess." 

He scrutinized her face - Tasha had a temper, he'd seen it many times. But it was usually a fiery explosion, gone as soon as it arrived. This time though, her anger was as cold and calculating. Frightening. "Stay away from Carter," he warned her. "You hurt her in any way, and I swear to God, I'll...." 

"What?" she sneered as he trailed to a halt. "Kill me?" 

"I've killed for worse reasons," he assured her, matching her own anger with his own. "Go home Tasha. Get some perspective." 

Angrily she pulled her arm from his grip. "My perspective is just fine," she retorted, tossing her hair over her shoulders in contempt as she stalked to the door. "You're the one with problems - screwing with me, screwing with Samantha Carter." She stopped at the door, hand on the door knob. "I'm glad I told her what you're really like," she told him coldly, "she deserves to know what a deceitful son-of-a-bitch you are, Jack O'Neill." 

Her words cut deep, knowing that there was truth beneath her anger. But he let her go, disappointed it had descended into this, but not surprised - she had a right to be angry. And so did he. "I mean it," he said quietly as she pulled open the door, "stay away from Carter." 

Tasha said nothing, slamming the door behind her as she left and setting the small room ringing. For a moment he didn't move, assaulted by a potent combination of guilt and anger. But above that there was something else, something new - a clarity of purpose that he hadn't felt in a long time. He mulled Tasha's implicit threat around his mind for a moment before he moved slowly towards the small table in the corner of his quarters and pulled a piece of paper towards him. He knew what he had to do, he just had to find the courage. 

*** 

From her kitchen Sam could see the mailman pop something into her mailbox. She watched him as she sipped at her coffee and sighed, trying to decide if it would be worth the effort to hobble down the driveway to retrieve whatever had been delivered. Junk mail, probably. Another offer for a new credit card, a hundred new ways to get into debt. She never got anything interesting in the mail. 

Then again, she was bored. On her second week of sick-leave her limited resources were stretched thin and at least the hobble down the drive would get her off her backside for a few minutes. Standing up she reached for her crutches and made her way slowly towards the door. They hadn't put a cast on her ankle - apparently that was considered old-fashioned these days - so she was resorting to limping around the house on crutches and willing her strapped-up ankle to heal. The only good thing was that, it being her left ankle, she could at least drive her car - even if she wasn't meant to. If she'd been trapped in the house all day, she thought she really would have gone stir crazy by now. 

The air outside was bright and crisp with the promise of winter, but she didn't bother with a coat, relishing the chill that brought her to life a little more as she made her way to the mailbox. Once there she rested one crutch against it and balanced on her good leg as she pulled out the contents. A flyer from the neighborhood Church offering to save her soul - too late for that, she suspected, one - no two - offers of platinum credit cards, and a narrow, business-like envelope. She turned it over and froze. There, in bold black letters on the front, was her name - 'Ms Samantha Carter' - written in the Colonel's unmistakable hand-writing. 

A flash of adrenaline set her heart leaping. She was violently curious, but at the same time nervous. Why was he writing to her? What did this mean? She hadn't seen O'Neill since her bizarre and unpleasant confrontation with Natasha Greene in the infirmary, and the last thing she'd heard from Daniel was that he'd taken some leave and headed up to his cabin. She'd assumed that Tasha was with him and so had done her best not to think about it - about him, or Tasha, and especially not him *and* Tasha. She turned the letter over in her hands speculatively, lost in thought until a chill wind blew out of the clear sky and she shivered, realizing that she was still standing at the mailbox without a coat. Tucking her mail under one arm she made her way back to the house, wondering why on earth the Colonel would be writing to her. Did anyone even write letters anymore? 

Once inside she grabbed her coffee from the kitchen counter and made her way towards the sofa, where she propped her foot up and sighed with relief as she made herself comfortable. Then, with a sip of coffee, she studied the envelope again. It had been posted two days earlier, in Minnesota. So he was still up there. It made it seem even stranger that he'd be writing to her, especially if Tasha was with him. She couldn't imagine what the envelope contained - for all she knew it was a report she needed to sign. Although what he'd be doing with paper work at his cabin she had no idea. 

She turned the letter over in her hands. "Only one way to find out," she told herself out loud, before slipping her finger under the envelope and slitting it open across the top. She pulled out a single sheet of paper, covered in the Colonel's handwriting. But it wasn't his normal, almost illegible scrawl. This was neat and deliberate, as if he'd copied it out. Her eyes scanned the words, trying to make sense of it all at once as she began to read, curiosity and agitation vying for dominance. 

 

Dear Sam 

You're probably wondering what the hell I'm doing, writing to you like this. It's not my normal MO, that's for sure. But you know how great I am at finding the right words, and since this is probably the most difficult thing I've ever tried to say, I thought I'd take the coward's way out and write. Plus, I figured you could throw this in the trash if you don't like what you read and we can both pretend it never happened, right? 

Okay. So...let's start with a few basics. First, I know what I'm doing is wrong, that it's dangerous for us both, that it undermines our working relationship, that it's unprofessional, against regulations, and probably infringes a hundred sexual discrimination regs. I know all that, and I'm still gonna do it. 

Second, I've spent the last couple of years ignoring, repressing, denying and lying. And I'm tired of it. I want to speak the truth, to say the words that should probably remain unspoken, and just deal with the consequences. 

So here it is, the truth: I love you. 

Now, I know this isn't a total shock, thanks to Anise and her charming machine. But there's more. I love you, Sam. I love you and I want you in my life - not just as my colleague and friend, but as something a lot more important. I want to look into your eyes and not feel guilty, I want to touch you and not be afraid of who's watching. I just want to love you. And if that's wrong, then I don't know what's right. 

I can see your eyes getting wider as you read this, eyebrows raised in astonishment. "What the hell's he saying? Is he out of his mind?" Yeah, I know that's what you're thinking. But just listen a bit longer. 

When you were lost on P3X-832 I realized a couple of things. First, that I'm real good at lying to myself and everyone around me, and second, that I can't do it anymore. Something inside me snapped, Sam. Some barrier that was holding all this in and I can't put it back. And, more importantly, I really don't want to. Life's too short. So I want you to know the truth - that I'm crazy about you and that I'll do whatever it takes to make it work between us. I'll do anything, Sam. I'll do everything I can, but I can't keep lying to myself, or to you. I love you, and that fact is the bright center of my universe. I can't hide it anymore. 

But from here it's up to you. If this isn't want you want, then I respect that totally. I'll be at my cabin all week, so you can reach me on my cell phone. If I don't hear from you, I'll know what it means and there'll be no hard feelings, I swear. But if you do call, then maybe we can talk and work out where we go from here. I hope you call. 

Please call. 

Yours always, 

JACK 

 

Sam was stunned. She had to read the letter three times before she could take it in - really take it in. He was proposing a relationship...an actual, real relationship. With her. She closed her eyes, surprised to find tears there. It was impossible - there was no way - and he knew that, he said as much at the beginning. So what the hell was he doing with this? What did he expect her to do? Just say 'screw the regulations' and come running because he'd decided it's what he wanted? And where the hell did Natasha Greene fit in? God! 

The phone was on the coffee table and she snatched it up, got half way through his number and stopped. With a sigh of frustration and complete confusion she sank back into the cushions and closed her eyes, phone in one hand, letter in the other. "Now what the hell do I do?" she sighed miserably. But the silent house had no answer for her. 

*** 

General Hammond sat pensively in his office, his eyes resting on the neat envelope that lay in the open desk-drawer, the printed letters that addressed it to himself staring up crisply from the white paper. He knew what was inside, although he had yet to read it. And he wouldn't, unless he had to. 

Although, if he was honest with himself, he was ambivalent about the content. There were no rights and wrongs here, just lots of complexity and the balancing of pros and cons. And he was glad, for once, that his own situation was untroubled by the storms of.... 

"General Hammond!" 

Startled from his thoughts he looked up to see Doctor Natasha Greene walk smilingly into his office, her sharp suit cut close over her slim, youthful figure. She was an attractive woman and he rose with a smile to greet her. "Doctor Greene," he said warmly, standing and extending a hand. "It's nice to see you again." 

"Likewise," she replied, shaking his hand firmly before taking a seat and placing her purse on the corner of his desk. He sat down too, softly closing his drawer and hiding the letter from view. 

"How did the conference go?" he asked her. "I take it Doctor Jackson's paper was a success?" 

She smiled. "Of course. He's an eloquent speaker, even if some of his sources are necessarily obscure." 

Hammond just nodded. "So," he said, eyeing her curiously, "to what do I owe the pleasure? Has Doctor Jackson scoped out another site that you'd like to visit?" 

The Doctor's head shook, her dark curls moving softly with the gesture as her face took on a subtly pained look. "No, General," she said, casting her eyes down demurely. "I'm afraid this is something of a more...personal nature." 

"I see," he replied, although his hackles instinctively rose. Over the years, Hammond had become a pretty shrewd judge of character and he suddenly had the feeling that he was being played for a fool. He kept his demeanor impassive, however, and added, "In what way?" 

Doctor Greene looked up at him, frowning slightly. "It's probably none of my business," she said quietly, "it's just that...I'm concerned." 

"Is that so?" 

With a soft sigh, she shook her head, her face the picture of concern. "I suppose you know that Jack and I are no longer seeing each other?" she began sadly. Hammond nodded cautiously and she continued. "Jack's a good man, General," she said. "And this job means a lot to him. That's why I don't want to see him throw it away." 

Shifting in his chair, Hammond steepled his fingers together and said, "And how is he doing that, Doctor?" 

Her brow creased, apparently worried. "Well, General," she said, lowering her voice and glancing around as if afraid of being overheard, "the thing is...the reason that Jack and I broke up was because of...of his relationship with Major Carter." 

Hammond froze, his jaw set and his steepled fingers tensed until he was forced to drop them into his lap. This was not something he wanted to hear. "Doctor," he said sharply, "please be very clear about what you're saying here - the careers of two very fine officers could be in the balance. What exactly do you mean?" 

She shrugged, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and suddenly losing something of her concerned appearance. "They're in love," she told him, with excruciating clarity. "Jack told me so himself." 

"I hope you realize," Hammond said, rising to his feet in an attempt to control his anger, "that by making this allegation you're jeopardizing the future of both Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter." 

Her eyes grew wide, but Hammond new the expression was feigned and in their depths he saw ice. "I'm doing what I think is best," she replied. 

But he shook his head. "Somehow, Doctor Greene, I doubt that," he said quietly. "I know revenge when I see it." 

A flush touched her cheeks as she too stood up, but whether it was anger or humiliation he couldn't tell. "I'm sorry that's what you think," she replied, hands folded neatly before her. "However, I'm not lying, and I would have thought that, being in your position, you might be able to prevent Jack from doing something that he - and Samantha Carter - may come to regret." Her expression was cold now, imperious, and she gazed at him out of fierce eyes. "Perhaps I was wrong, but you don't look like a man who would hide from the truth." 

If that was intended to hit home, it worked. Hiding from this particular truth was something he'd been doing for a long time. Too long, perhaps. "If I were such a man," he grated out, "you've removed that option. I hope this is something that you don't live to regret, Doctor Greene. There are very few people who can afford to make enemies." 

She smiled at that, a chill smile that made him shiver. "A piece of advice," she replied, "to which Jack O'Neill would have been wise to listen." 

Hammond said nothing as the Doctor retrieved her purse from his desk and turned to leave. But as she pulled open the door she was greeted by a rather startled Daniel Jackson, who stood beyond with his hand raised and about to knock. "Tasha!" he said immediately, confusion clear on his expressive face. "Uh, what are you doing here?" 

Doctor Greene cast one final, icy glance at Hammond, before turning her eyes on Daniel. "Leaving," she said. 

And so she did, stalking briskly away with her heels clicking sharply on the floor. Moving slowly, as he always did when he was thinking, Daniel stepped into the room, his eyes fixed on the Doctor's retreating figure. "So...," he said after a moment, turning his attention back to the General, "what was that about?" 

Taking a deep breath, Hammond sank back into his chair. "Trouble, son," he told the young man. "For two of our friends." 

Daniel grimaced, too smart to need further clues. "'Heaven has no rage, like love to hatred turned,'" he murmured quietly to himself, "'Nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned'." 

"Shakespeare, Doctor Jackson?" Hammond asked, smiling in grim humor. 

"Huh?" Daniel asked. And then, shaking his head as if only just realizing he'd spoken aloud he added, "Ah, actually, no. It's from The Mourning Bride, by William Congreve, an English restoration playwright of...." Catching the General's obviously edgy gaze he trailed to an abrupt halt. "Sorry," he muttered, pulling his glasses from his nose and turning to squint through Hammond's open door once more. He sighed, shaking his head, "So...trouble." 

Hammond nodded. "With a capital T." 

*** 

The line had been in the water for hours, but nothing but the delicate feet of insects flitting across the lake's surface disturbed the water. Certainly no fish. Not that Jack cared. He sat with his legs stretched before him, gazing out over the peaceful waters with a heavy heart, drowning in silence. A barely touched beer rested, warming, in his lap and on the floor by his feet was his discarded cell phone, battery charged and waiting for a call that had never come. 

He sighed, but didn't move. What was the point? He knew she had to have gotten his letter three days ago now - it was five since he had sent it - so her silence was eloquent. She wasn't interested. Perhaps too much water had passed beneath the bridge? Perhaps she couldn't forgive him for being with Tasha the night she was lost? Perhaps...she just didn't care? It was always difficult to tell with Carter, who played her cards so close to her chest and always kept her cool. Maybe she just wasn't interested in something serious. She was young, probably didn't want to be tied down - especially not to a washed-up old soldier like himself. He sighed again. Damn, but it was easy to feel sorry for yourself when you were alone. 

Busy. He had to keep busy, take his mind off the ache in his chest, focus on the future. Because whatever happened with Carter, he knew for sure that his future was going to be a hell of a lot different now. Standing up, Jack snagged his phone from the dock, stuck it into his back pocket, and headed back towards the cabin. The air was cold today, heralding the end of fall - soon there would be snow. He should probably check the roof, make sure everything was set for the long winter. Who knew when he'd get up here again? Now, where the hell had he put his roofing tools...? 

*** 

Sam made her way carefully up the track, her progress slow on the uneven ground. She'd left her rental car close to the Colonel's truck, and it seemed like the rest of the way had to be on foot. Or, in her case, one foot and two crutches. Great. But she wouldn't be put off, not after having come this far. 

After sitting for over an hour just staring at his letter she had realized that she had to see him, to talk about this - even if she didn't have a clue what to say. The only things she knew for sure were that his letter had touched her profoundly, but that however appealing his suggestions were, an illicit relationship between them was still impossible. For as powerful as the forces were that drove them together, the forces that kept them apart were stronger; duty and honor. Neither of them would sacrifice those upon the alter of their desire, neither of them could be happy if they did. 

At last she saw his cabin through the trees, matching Teal'c's description exactly. Unlike O'Neill's house in Colorado Springs his cabin was charmingly disheveled, and sitting in a pool of late-fall sunlight it looked warm and inviting. Sam had to bite back a sigh and remind herself that she had a motel room booked back down the road - and that she was here to talk, to clear the air, no more. Then she would leave. 

As she emerged into the little clearing that surrounded his cabin, Sam stopped. Her eyes at once fell on the cabin's owner, dressed warmly against the day's chill, ubiquitous peaked cap low over his eyes, and sitting on the edge of a rough wooden bench, carefully inspecting an odd-looking tool for which Sam couldn't even guess a purpose. His brow was creased in concentration as he ran one finger over a bladed edge. Here, she realized, he was in his element. As much as he loved his job, he'd always chafed against the rigidity of the military, but out here, alone, he was truly himself. She smiled, and for a moment her resolve wavered. How easy it would be to enter that warm pool of sunlight, fold her arms around him, and join him in his golden haven. How easy, how tempting...how wrong. 

She sighed, and he must have heard the soft sound because he looked up, and their eyes met with a jolt Sam felt in the core of her being. She saw astonishment, disbelief, and ultimately real pleasure all race across his face, culminating in tense anticipation as he slowly rose to his feet. "Carter." he said quietly, her name spoken half in hope and half in utter relief. "Hey." 

"Hey," she replied, and for a moment neither of them moved, their locked gaze holding themselves and the world still. He seemed different somehow, more open than usual, and even from this distance she could see the warmth in his eyes; she wondered what he saw when he looked at her. 

"You didn't call," he said nervously, obviously disconcerted by her sudden appearance. 

"No," she admitted. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to say." 

He was watching her intently, apprehensively. And almost for the first time since she'd known him, his hands were motionless on the object he held, tense with anticipation. "But you do now?" 

She knew what he was asking - had she come there to plunge into a relationship despite the regulations - and wished she had a better answer for him. But he'd said he wanted the truth, and this was it. "Not really," she said, keeping her eyes fixed on his. "But I thought it would help if we talked. I hate telephones." 

It wasn't an answer and none of the tension left him, but he nodded at her words, gave a small smile, and looked away. "Yeah, me too," he said. "I'm glad you're here - we do need to talk." 

And with that the spell was broken. No longer held in thrall by his intense gaze, Sam started moving again, making her way carefully across his bumpy yard towards the cabin. As if noticing for the first time that she was on crutches, Jack jolted into motion, hurrying towards her. "Carter!" he exclaimed in exasperation. "Your ankle.... Where's your car?" 

"I left it near your truck," she replied, glancing up and unable to repress a smile at the expression on his face. "Teal'c said you couldn't drive right up here." 

"You walked?" 

"Well," she smiled, "more like hopped really...." 

"Oh, for crying out.... Carter, why didn't you call? I mean...at least from the car. I could've come got you." 

"I'm fine," she assured him as she moved past. "I'm getting pretty good with these things you know. Besides, I need the exercise." 

He fell in at her side, walking slowly to keep pace and watching her out of the corner of his eye. "You could have hurt yourself." 

Catching his eye, she smiled at his unusual concern. "Just pretend we're off world, sir," she suggested, "then it won't bother you so much." 

He looked away sharply at that, frowning. "Is that how it seems?" he asked. "That is doesn't bother me?" 

Instantly, Sam regretted her words. "Of course not," she replied, surprised again by his unusual candor. "I just meant...you're used to me taking care of myself, that's all." 

Jack nodded. "It does bother me," he told her, still staring at his boots as they walked slowly along. "I just can't let it show." 

"I know." 

He sighed, but didn't look at her again until they reached the cabin. "Coming in?" he asked, the question light but betraying an edge of concern as if he were afraid she may say no. She couldn't blame him - she'd said no so many times before. 

But this time she didn't, and offered him a small smile. "For a while," she said. 

"Right," he murmured, understanding her implied intention not to stay for long. 

Sam paused at the foot of the steps to his porch, considering the best way to climb them with her crutches. There was nothing to hold onto, and as she was mulling over the problem Jack simply slid his arm across her back and under her arms, supporting her weight as she limped up the steps. The impact of the physical contact was startling - a sudden jolt of desire sent her stomach into free-fall and the air between them was suddenly charged and dangerous. Acutely aware of every movement she reached up across his back, holding onto his shoulder as he helped her up the steps. Beneath her arm she felt the play of muscles in his back as he moved and couldn't deny the fact that the sudden closeness felt good, enticing - right. And suddenly she was back in the cave, her head resting against his chest and his arms holding her tightly. She remembered a warm caress against her cheek, words murmured softly into her hair, and her breath caught at the intensity of the memory...she struggled to repress a sigh at the ache it left in its wake. 

What Jack was feeling she couldn't tell, because she didn't dare look at his face. But as soon as they reached the porch he let her go and headed quickly into the cabin, holding the door open for her. "Come in," he said, with a wry smile, as if sharing some private joke with himself. Sam thought she understood - at one point his main objective in life had seemed to be getting her into his cabin, although this scenario was probably not what he had in mind. 

She smiled too, catching his eye and sharing the joke for a moment, as she stepped inside and looked around. For some reason, she had expected the cabin to be dark and pokey. But it wasn't, it was bright with sunshine that fell through the windows, making the polished wooden floor glow warmly. Freshly cut logs sat in the stone hearth, their scent lending the living room a deliciously woody aroma. A comfortable looking chair and sofa were crowded around the fireplace, scattered with the morning paper. And through the window the lake glittered in the afternoon sunshine, giving everything a wonderful sensation of cozy comfort. "Wow," she said at last, taking a deep breath. "This is great." 

Jack grinned, clearly delighted with her response. "Thanks," he said. "I knew you'd love...." Abruptly he cut himself off, an embarrassed grimace crossing his face. "Ah, have a seat," he offered, covering up his momentary fluster, and moving to clear the newspaper from the sofa. "You want something to drink? Coffee? Beer?" 

Sam sank gratefully onto the soft sofa, sighing in relief as she propped her injured leg along its length. "Coffee," she said, smiling up at him. "Thanks." 

With a nod, Jack disappeared into the kitchen and she soon heard the distinctive burble of a percolator bubbling away. But it took him longer than normal to make the coffee, and when he returned he looked rather more composed than before. Something of his normal reserve was back in place and his barriers raised once more. He didn't smile at her again as he took a seat in the chair opposite and handed her a steaming mug of coffee, he just watched her out of guarded eyes as if waiting for the blow to fall. The expression saddened her deeply - she knew he was pulling back, fearing her coming rejection and doing his best to protect himself. She looked away, wishing there was a different option - but she could think of none that didn't compromise her sense of duty. "So...," Jack said into the silence that had fallen between them. 

"So," she agreed quietly. "I guess...we should talk." 

Jack nodded. "You, um, got the letter?" he asked, a touch of self-consciousness peeking through his defenses. 

"Yeah," she replied. "I was...surprised. I thought you were up here with Tasha." 

He grimaced, and took a sip of coffee. "I guess I didn't mention that we broke up," he said, glancing up at her from beneath his brow. "I kinda assumed Daniel would've filled you in." 

She smiled at that; Daniel was, after all, the team gossip. "What happened?" she asked. "With Tasha?" 

"What do you think?" he said, still watching her carefully. When he got no reply he took a deep breath and carried on. "She guessed - about you." 

"She dumped you?" Sam asked, suddenly suspicious. 

His lips quirked into a thin smile. "It was mutual." 

She nodded, her mind flying irresistibly back to Tasha's painful words in the infirmary; 'Guess he didn't miss you that much.' He'd slept with her. While she'd been freezing to death, alone and in pain, he'd slept with her! The sense of betrayal she felt was like a tender spot in her heart that she couldn't resist touching, even if the resulting pain was even more severe than before. She fixed him with a steady look. "When did you break up?" she asked. 

"Day after we found you," he said. "I guess it was pretty obvious how I felt while you were gone...." 

"Ha!" Sam couldn't help the cynical bark of laughter that escaped, and Jack winced. He had to know what she was thinking, but he said nothing, perhaps hoping to avoid discussing it. No chance. "Do you remember when we thought Daniel was dead?" she asked him calmly, deciding on a tangential approach as a shimmering anger rose slowly through the warm comfort of the room. "When we *knew* we'd seen him die?" 

He glanced up, face impassive - a sure sign he was retreating further behind his barriers, waiting for the assault. "Yeah," he replied cautiously. 

"We were all devastated," she said. "You lost it - smashed a window in the General's car." 

"What's your point?" 

Taking a deep breath, Sam said, "How could you sleep with her that night, when you thought I was dead?" 

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, and then abruptly rose to his feet and turned away, moving to stand next to the fireplace with his back to her and one hand braced on the mantel. For a long time there was silence, punctuated only by the toe of his boot kicking the hearth. When he did eventually speak, his voice had lost all of its previous reserve and shook on the edge of something deeply personal. "How old were you when your Mom died, Carter?" he asked softly. 

Odd question. "Eleven," she replied, watching him carefully and feeling her anger begin melt under the intense emotion radiating out from him in waves. 

He shook his head. "That's too young," he sighed. Then, "I was thirty-one when my Mom died. Thirty-eight when Charlie died, thirty-nine when Sara left." His voice thickened suddenly and the hand on the mantel tightened until his knuckles turned white. "I've also lost twenty-three men under my direct command, and four fellow officers. I've killed eighteen men face to face and...too many anonymously. That's a lot of death in one lifetime." 

Sam didn't know what to say, shaken by the sudden onslaught of his feelings; she'd never seen his armor crack this way. And yet she sensed that he was still rigidly under control and she shuddered to think what would happen if that control ever slipped. But right then the blunt assault of his emotions demanded a response from her, however lame. So Sam cleared her throat and whispered, "Yeah, it is." She suddenly felt like a petty, selfish child for judging him and daring to presume that he felt less than he should. An apology was just forming on her lips when he spoke again. 

"When they said you were gone, Carter, I thought I was gonna lose it completely - go under and *never* come up again. I reached for the first thing I could...I'm sorry. I should have been out there looking for you, but they said you were gone and I just...." He broke off abruptly and hung his head, motionless but for the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders as he sucked in shallow breaths. "I left you behind, Sam," he said eventually, in a shaky voice. "That was the worst thing I did that night." 

Had she been able to jump to her feet, Sam would have gone to reassure him in a flash. But her crutches were propped against the wall which, the cautious side of her mind told her, was probably for the best. She'd come here to talk - that's all - so talk is what she would do. "You didn't leave me behind, sir," she insisted gently, "you brought me home. You saved my life - again." 

"No," he replied, turning towards her at last, his face dark with emotion. "You saved *my* life, Carter - every single day." He gazed at her through eyes ravaged by emotion - his barriers were down again, laying in ruins, and his heart was laid bare in his eyes; she saw for almost the first time the depth of his feelings for her - and it overwhelmed her entirely, leaving her breathless with wonder. He loved her, needed her, wanted her - she saw passion, tenderness, and devotion in his eyes as he stood there and bared his soul in that long, silent look. And just when she didn't think she could stand the intensity a moment longer he closed his eyes, summoning courage, before opening them again and fixing her with an imploring look. "Carter," he said wearily, "please just tell me - have you come here to start this or end it?" 

Her breath caught in her chest at the blunt question. And she didn't want to answer it - she couldn't - not in those terms. "I," she began, frowning, "I don't want to end anything." 

"But?" he said, taking a step closer and boring into her with his dark, fervent gaze. 

She swallowed. "But - realistically - you know we can't start anything. The regulations...." 

"Forget the regulations," he urged, striding forward and dropping down at her side, seizing her hands. "Carter...this is more important...." 

"No," she insisted, pulling her hands free and backing as far away as she could on the sofa. "Sir - we *can't* forget the regulations! You know what will happen if we do." 

He was shaking his head now, frustrated. "I know. I mean...what if there *were* no regulations?" He took her hand again, his fingers warm against her skin, and she felt his touch with such shocking intensity that she shivered. "What if they weren't an issue?" he   
pressed. "What then?" 

"Then...things would be different," she replied gently. "But there's no point thinking like that, sir. They are there. There's no way round them." 

He looked away for a moment, but both of his hands held hers now and her heart was racing like an express train. When he looked back his face was set and serious. "I'm thinking of retiring," he said cautiously, as if assessing her response. 

"What?" she exclaimed, and from the way he winced it was the very response he'd been expecting. "You can't!" 

He shrugged, releasing her hand and moving to sit on the sofa next to her. "Why not?" 

Sam was shaking her head, not sure she could process what he was offering. "For me...?" she managed to splutter at last. "I can't let you do that - I won't. You're too important to the SGC to leave!" 

He smiled at her then, almost shyly, and not quite looking at her said, "You're too important to me to stay." He glanced up. "I meant what I said in my letter, Carter. I need you in my life - if you're willing - and I'll do anything to make it work." 

"Not that," she insisted, flustered - this was too much! Retiring? Giving up everything just to be with her? It was...crazy! "I can't imagine the SGC without you. And what about the Goa'uld?" 

"Think they'd miss me?" 

"Colonel!" she protested, staring at him incredulously. "You can't just walk away from it!" 

He sighed heavily at that, thumbs tapping anxiously together in his lap and his brow suddenly contracted into a frown. "You think it's a dereliction of duty."

The words hung between them, and she had to admit her initial reaction was something along those lines. To walk away from the fight, just to be with her...it seemed decadent, dishonorable. And yet, a part of her couldn't help but be thrilled; he wanted to be with her so much that he'd give up *everything* for her. But the responsibility that placed on her was terrifying, and was more than she was prepared for. 

"I've thought a lot about this," he said suddenly, standing up again and pacing around the room. "It's not just a whim, not just some testosterone-induced lust thing!" Sam's eyebrows rose at that, and he waved the comment away as if slightly embarrassed. "I keep thinking about Major Coburn," he admitted then, picking up something from the windowsill and starting to toy with it, calming himself. "He walked away to be with his wife and kids, and the SGC kept right on going without him. Same would happen with me. I'm not indispensable there, Carter. None of us are." He met her eyes briefly and quietly added, "But I'd like to be indispensable - to you." 

Her heart thudded and words spilled unthinking from her lips. "You already are," she told him softly, smiling shakily at the light she saw bloom in his eyes. Then she looked hurriedly away, afraid of losing herself in his crazy fantasy. "But it's not that simple, is it? What about you? What would you do with yourself if you retired?" 

He glanced at her from beneath his brow. "This and that," he promised. "I actually still have a life outside the mountain, unlike some people." 

She shrugged her acceptance of the point. "It would be a lot of pressure," she said then, feeling herself getting backed further and further into a corner. She couldn't seriously be thinking about this - could she? "What if things didn't work out between us?" she pressed. "What if, after a couple of dates, we decide it's not working? You'd have thrown your career away for nothing." 

"There's no chance of that, Carter," he told her confidently, turning back to face her and leaning against the windowsill. "I know you - intimately. Most married couples haven't spent as much time together as we have." He tapped his chest. "You're in here Carter, and you're not leaving." 

Sam watched him speculatively, weighing her next words carefully. "The woman you know, Colonel," she told him, deliberately using his rank, "is *Major* Carter, who calls you sir and follows your orders. You might find *Sam* harder to handle." 

A slow grin spread over his face. "That sounds like a challenge." 

She had to look away to keep from smiling herself. "I'm being serious, Colonel," she reminded him. "You might find we don't know each other as well as we think we do. It's still a risk." 

"It is a risk," he agreed. "But isn't risk-taking what we do every single day we go out there?" 

"Out there, yes," she agreed. "But...." 

Sam faltered to a halt, not quite sure how to continue, and Jack pounced in sudden understanding. "You're afraid," he told her suddenly. "Aren't you?" 

She frowned, but couldn't deny it. "I guess so. Aren't you?" 

After a moment's pause he shrugged. "Some," he agreed, walking towards her again, "but I'm more afraid of losing you, Carter." He sat down next to her, placing a hesitant hand on her good leg and watching her face for any sign of displeasure. When she didn't object, he carried on. "My Dad gave me some advice once. I didn't listen to much of what he told me, but this one stuck - 'You're a long time dead'." He met her gaze again, his thumb moving gently over her thigh and doing terrible things to her concentration. "I've given over twenty years to the Air Force, Carter," he said. "And don't get me wrong, most of it I loved. But it's starting to get old - new countries, new planets, each one faced with a gun in my hands and a threat just around the corner. I've been a soldier almost all my adult life - am I being selfish to ask for a few years of peace and...." 

"...love?" she finished for him as she nervously covered his hand with her own. He just looked at her, the answer in his eyes. And in that moment, she understood; he wasn't walking away from anything. He never had. She'd been the one to run, to hide behind the regulations because she was too frightened to take the greatest risk of all. "No," she said, watching the heat build in his eyes as she spoke, barely able to hear her quiet voice over the thudding of her heart, "I don't think you are." 

He moved his hand, turning it over so that their fingers laced, as he ran his tongue nervously over his lips. "Carter," he said, looking right into her eyes, "please tell me you want to start something here." 

There were a hundred good reasons not to, she thought as she gazed into his liquid eyes and basked in their warmth. And only one good reason to do it, but that one reason was the most important one of all; she loved him. Tightening her hold on his hand she found her voice a mere whisper: "I think I do...Jack." 

He sagged as if his strings had been cut, so palpable was his relief. But he didn't whoop or grin, instead he just pulled her into his arms, burying his head in her shoulder and holding her tightly. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair. "Thank you, Sam...." 

"How long?" she asked as she slid her arms around him and smiled as he squeezed her tighter in response. 

"Huh?" he mumbled into her hair. 

"Until you resign?" she clarified, pulling back so she could look into his face. "How long do we have to wait?" 

He smiled at that, a small smile that lit his eyes so brightly they sparkled. "Hammond already has the letter." 

Sam's eyes widened. "You already resigned?" she asked, astonished. "Before you knew what I'd do?" 

"I tried to," he told her, loosening his embrace and letting her settle back into the cushions, although his hands trailed down her arms and kept a firm hold on her fingers. "Hammond wouldn't accept it - told me to take a couple of weeks leave and think about it. So here I am - thinking." 

Confused now, she frowned. "Then you were going to retire anyway? Even if I hadn't wanted to...pursue this?" 

"Does that bother you?" he asked curiously. 

Shaking her head, she shrugged. "Actually, no. It's better - not so much pressure." 

"No pressure," he assured her, smiling into her eyes with an expression of such deep affection that Sam felt herself start to melt. "None at all," he added as he moved in, a welcome invader of her space - close, closer, his nose gently bumping hers.... Oh, God, he was going to kiss her! Adrenaline pumped and her head began to swim dizzily as a thrill of excitement rippled from head to toe and his fingers tightened around hers. His breath was warm on her lips, coffee scented and delicious. God, she wanted this. She'd wanted it for so long, dreamed about it, wished for it.... This was it! Her vision blurred as nothing but a whisp of air sizzled between them, her eyes began to flutter shut and... 

Bleep, bleep. 

They stopped, frozen on the cusp of the kiss; cell phone. 

Bleep, bleep. 

O'Neill's cell phone. 

"Damn," he muttered, pulling back apologetically and with extreme frustration. "Sorry - I have to answer...emergency number," he mumbled, yanking his phone out of his back pocket and studying it. "SGC," he told her as he answered. "O'Neill." 

His face was impassive as he listened, and then surprised. "General! What...oh." There was a long pause, during which he listened intently, his face darkening. "I see," he said, and then, "What exactly did she say?" His eyes widened, then narrowed sharply as he began to toy with edge of his sweater. And then a small smile touched his lips, "Yes sir...it's true." But the   
smile soon faded. "No!" he exclaimed suddenly into the phone. "No sir, we haven't, I swear to God." He dropped her hand, pulling away from her with a pained expression. "Yes, I understand. I'll get there as soon as I can." Another pause. "I'm sure she will, sir. Thank you, sir. ...Yeah. 'Bye." 

He switched off his phone with a sigh, and raised his eyes to hers. "What's happened?" Sam asked fearfully. 

"Tasha," came the dark reply. 

"Is she okay?" Sam asked, wondering just what kind of trouble the woman could get herself into now. 

"Oh, she's fine," Jack said bitterly. "And she's been making some allegations about...you and me." 

Sam's eyes widened and her stomach dropped. "Shit!" she hissed, running a hand through her hair, suddenly aware of all the impropriety of where she was and what she was doing. Jack wasn't retired yet! "I should go," she decided, trying to rise. 

But he held her in place with a gentle hand. "It's okay," he assured her. "We haven't done anything wrong - we just need to go talk to Hammond. It's gonna be fine, it's just going to take a while to sort out, that's all." He smiled, and reached out to touch her face, trying to recapture the moment. 

But she caught his fingers in her hand, and gently lowered them to her lap. "No," she said, softening the word with a smile, "not now. I can't." 

"Why not?" he asked, confused. 

She sighed. "Because this is too important to rush - and I don't want to feel like we're doing something wrong." 

He leaned closer, voice low and enticing. "We're not rushing, and this isn't wrong." 

The subtle scent of his soap or after-shave filled her senses.... God, she was tempted. "Technically," she reminded him desperately, "you're still my superior officer, *sir*". 

 

"Technically?" he breathed, closer still. 

She leaned back into the cushions, away from him and swallowed hard against the almost overwhelming temptation to surrender. "Until your resignation comes through we can't do this," she repeated. "Hammond's going to have to ask questions now - after Tasha...." 

He stopped his advance at that point, his eyes losing their veil of desire and looking at her with sudden curiosity - he didn't quite believe her and was obviously expecting her to start laughing at any moment. But she didn't, she just looked into his eyes honestly and said, "Let's wait until it's all sorted out. I don't want to have to hide this, and we've waited so long already." 

"Sam...," he murmured with a frustrated shake of the head. "Really?" 

"I don't want to have to lie about it to our friends, even for a few weeks," she explained quietly, smiling fondly at his disbelieving face. "I want it to be honest, Jack - right from the start." 

"God, " he breathed as he moved back a little, "you're serious." 

"If we...did something now," she said, feeling herself flush slightly at the implication, "we'd have to lie to General Hammond and I don't know if I could do that. This way, our conscience is clear. We have nothing to hide." 

He was silent for a moment, looking at her with a mixture of admiration and astonishment. "You're right," he agreed at last, with a soft sigh and an affectionate smile. "As always. And a hell of a lot stronger than me." He pulled his hands from hers with painful reluctance, but he was still sitting close and his eyes were riveted on her. "I don't know how I'm gonna hide this when we get back, though," he said as his smile broadened into a grin. "I feel like I'm...well, I can't think of the words, but you know what I mean. And I'm sure people will notice." 

Sam nodded. "That you're happy?" she suggested, matching his smile with one of her own. "You look happy." 

"That's what it is!" he chuckled, rising to his feet and moving a safe distance away. "Happy...yeah. Very, very happy - and lucky." 

"Me too," she agreed, feeling more in control of herself now that he wasn't so close. "Actually, I think this will be good," she decided, watching him. "A few weeks to get used to the idea of...more. It won't be so sudden." 

Jack didn't look entirely convinced. "Maybe," he agreed. "Although, frankly, I think I could get used to 'more' pretty damn quickly." His smile turned suggestive. "It's not like I haven't considered the possibility before." 

"Is that so?" Sam replied, catching his playful mood. "Of course," she added, "you're forgetting the other advantage of waiting a couple of weeks." 

"I am?" he said, his eyebrows twitching expressively. His dark eyes were alive with humor - and desire - and she knew he was deliberately teasing her. 

So she gave him a slow, seductive smile and watched as his jaw dropped in astonishment. "I'll be a lot more mobile once my ankle's healed - far more adventurous." 

Jack swallowed. "I can't wait...," he murmured unsteadily, looking like he meant every word. 

"Sure you can," she assured him with a smile. "Just think of the anticipation." 

He nodded slowly, watching her with such obvious longing that she felt herself blush. "The moment my papers come through," he warned her, "I'll be knocking on your door." 

Sam grinned happily, her stomach fluttering at the thought. "I'll be waiting." 

*** 

The speeches were long since over, and the alcohol was flowing freely in the packed commissary. Music played from somewhere, loud but not intrusive, and the low lights were shimmering in the smoke from an occasional, illicit cigarette. General Hammond took a deep breath and sighed. The mood was celebratory, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret as he looked over to where his once-best team stood grouped together near the make-shift bar, laughing and joking. SG-1, a legend in their own lifetimes - and he meant that without a trace of irony. The undefeatable, indefatigable SG-1. 

Jack stood in the middle of the group, arguing laughingly with Doctor Jackson about the details of some mission or another that had landed them in trouble. The Doctor was appealing to Carter for backup, but she was just grinning and shaking her head - wisely choosing not to join the debate. Teal'c observed in silence, but Hammond had known the man long enough to see the affection that brightened his eyes as he watched his friends. And he sighed again, feeling a sharp pang of regret; the place just wouldn't be the same without Colonel O'Neill haunting its corridors with his irreverent jibes and impolitic comments. 

The General's eyes moved from Jack's slightly tipsy face to that of the Major. Her wide, infectious grin was almost the brightest thing in the softly-lit room, and he couldn't blame O'Neill for falling under her spell; she was an astonishing woman, brilliant, competent, and courageous. And as he was watching, Jack happened to glance down at her, where she stood leaning against the bar at his side. Their eyes met for a moment and something flashed between them - it was like a bolt of energy that lit both their faces in an instant of pure happiness. And then it was gone, Jack returned to his debate with Daniel and Carter picked up her drink and took a sip. But a smile sparkled brightly in her eyes and the very same smile toyed with Jack's lips as he talked to Daniel. They were happy, so damn happy that it showed in everything they did. 

And that, the General sighed, was what it was all about. Happiness. And why the hell not? 

"Sir?" The voice at his side startled him, and he looked down into the curious eyes of Doctor Fraiser staring up at him. "You look a little pensive, sir," she added, offering him a drink. "I thought you could use one of these - for medicinal purposes, of course." 

He smiled. "Thank you Doctor," he nodded, accepting the drink from her. "And I suppose I am a little pensive." His eyes returned to SG-1, still talking happily together. "Don't tell Colonel O'Neill this," he warned her, "but I'm actually going to miss him." 

"Me too," Fraiser said quietly. "And don't you tell him that either, sir. For all his complaining, the Colonel's very...likable." 

Nodding, Hammond turned back to her. "That he is," he agreed. "I just wish...I wish there'd been another way, and that he hadn't had to make this choice." 

Fraiser's eyebrows rose. "As far as I'm aware," she said curiously, "the Colonel's retiring in order to 'travel' and 'pursue other interests.'" 

Hammond chuckled at that one. "Is that what he told you?" 

Her eyes narrowed and she glanced again at the team. "Yes," she said slowly. "I had my suspicions," she continued, "but...no one else confirmed them, so....?" 

No one else? Major Carter, in other words, had kept the truth even from her friend - he wasn't entirely surprised. But from the irritation in the Doctor's voice, she had obviously expected to be privy to the secret. "I believe that Jack *is* planning to do some traveling," he said, in an attempt to mollify her. "He told me he'd always wanted to see...the pyramids." 

Fraiser's eyes widened. "He said that?" 

"He may not have been entirely serious," Hammond agreed. "However, I do believe he is serious in his pursuit of 'other interests'." 

The Doctor was silent for a moment. "Well," she said at last, "it's about time." 

"Like I said," Hammond sighed, "I just wish we didn't have to lose him over it." 

She didn't reply, her eyes fixed on SG-1 and his gaze followed hers. The music had changed, slowed slightly, and Jack was muttering something close to Carter's ear. At first she shook her head, smiling but backing away. Jack was persistent, however, and Hammond heard his laughing words bubble through the noisy crowd. "Come on Carter," he pleaded, "make an old man happy...." 

Carter hesitated, glanced towards the center of the room where a few couples were slowly dancing, and rolled her eyes. Jack obviously took the gesture as a yes, because he started to propel her towards the dancers with a firm hand on one shoulder as if she might try to escape. Once buried amid the couples, he swung her gently around and into his arms, holding her at a very proper and respectful distance as they danced. 

At his side he heard Fraiser give a little sigh, and glanced down to see her watching them with a wistful expression in her eyes. Feeling his attention on her, she cleared her throat and looked away, her customary detachment returning. "Well," she said, "it's nice to see a happy ending for once." 

"I suppose this is as happy as it gets," he replied, watching the dancing couple. They weren't dancing close, but the intensity of the gaze they shared charged the air between them with a heat that even he could sense. "I just wish I could have found a way to keep Colonel O'Neill in the SGC." 

Fraiser nodded, turning her back on the dancers and scrutinizing him carefully. "Have you considered," she said quietly, "that the Colonel doesn't want to be kept? " 

He frowned slightly. "You mean that even if there was a way for him to...pursue his 'other interests' while retaining his position here, he would have chosen to resign?" 

"Yes," she nodded thoughtfully, clearly struggling to articulate her conjecture. He paused, waiting for her to speak. "When I first met Colonel O'Neill," she said carefully, "it was to do his pre-mission physical for the first Abydos mission." She paused, sipped her drink and added, "I recommended that, instead of being put in command of the mission, he be referred for psychological examination." 

Hammond nodded, all too familiar with the Colonel's file from that period. "It wasn't long after the death of his son." 

Fraiser nodded. "That's right," she agreed. "He was depressed - dangerously so, in my opinion." She shivered slightly. "I remember his eyes," she said softly. "They were flat and dead - there was nothing there. It was like looking into a dark mirror - hollow." 

"I can't imagine how he must have felt, given the circumstances of his son's death." 

"No," Fraiser agreed. "The Colonel takes his responsibilities very seriously - I doubt he'll ever forgive himself." 

As she spoke, Hammond lifted his eyes to where Jack was still dancing with Major Carter. They were talking quietly now, having relaxed somewhat and drawn a little closer. Still nothing overt, but there was no mistaking the bond that these two shared. And then Jack smiled, an expression Hammond realized he had seen increasingly over the past few weeks. 

As if reading his thoughts, Fraiser said, "He's happy, sir. He's not the man I first met - or rather, he's not the shell of a man I first met. Whatever happened on Abydos, it changed him - when he came back, I saw life in his eyes, even if it was still through a veil of grief. And over the years I've seen more and more of it - but...I've never seen him really happy before, sir. Not really. Have you?" 

Hammond considered the question. He'd seen O'Neill exuberant, triumphant, amused...but beneath them all had been a dark undercurrent. Of what, he couldn't be sure - sadness, guilt, loneliness, maybe all three. After all, he'd lost more than his son when Charlie had died; he'd lost his wife too - his entire family. And thinking suddenly of his own children and grandchildren, Hammond realized for the first time everything that Jack had lost. He'd lost his future, the chance to grow old with his wife, to see his son grow to adulthood and, perhaps, to hold a grandchild of his own one day. 

But maybe now he had a second chance. God knew, the man deserved it, and in that moment Hammond realized that Fraiser was right; Jack didn't want to be kept, he wanted to be free to rebuild what he had lost and what Hammond took so much for granted - a loving family. He felt an uncharacteristic lump rise to his throat at the idea, and swallowed hard. "You're right," he told Fraiser gruffly. "I've never seen him this happy before, and I'm being selfish wanting to keep him here. He deserves this - he deserves a second chance." 

Fraiser nodded, her own gaze returning to the dancing couple as a soft smile played over her lips. "I think they both do, sir." 

*** 

The music was sweet and gentle, its rhythm slow enough that Jack didn't need to think about what he was doing as he swayed with her in his arms. Well, almost in his arms - given the fact that they were dancing in the middle of the commissary, and in full view of General Hammond. 

"So," Jack smiled, "is everybody watching?" 

Sam grinned. "Probably," she agreed. "Half of them think we've been sleeping together for years." 

Damn, he really should have paid more attention to the gossip. "They do?" 

"Sure," she shrugged, her smile turning cynical. "How else would I have made Major so fast?" 

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't say he was surprised by the attitude. Hell, he'd probably have shared it a decade earlier. "Assholes" he told her, including himself in the description. 

But Sam, with her characteristic good grace, just smiled. "I can handle it," she assured him. And then, with an obvious attempt to change the subject she said, "So, how about you, sir? Last day." 

Sir. He smiled at her, amused by her tenacity. "Just twelve more hours to go, *Major*," he replied in kind. "As of midday tomorrow, you can quit calling me sir." 

She smiled again, but there was sadness there and her eyes were serious when she said, "Any regrets?" 

He pulled her a little closer in response, reassuring her wordlessly. How could he have regrets when she was in his arms? And yet, she was right. He did feel a certain pang of loss. He couldn't pretend that he didn't have mixed emotions about his decision - he'd miss the buzz, the sense of purpose, and especially his team. Hell, if he didn't know for sure that he'd see them all the time once he was gone, he wasn't sure that even Sam could lure him from SG-1. But his team were more than just comrades in arms, they were his friends - his family - and would continue to be until the day he died. Of that he was absolutely certain. Something of his pensive thoughts must have shown on his face, because she moved slightly out of his arms, concern clouding her eyes. "Sir, if you're having second thoughts...." 

"No!" he assured her, pulling her closer - a little too close perhaps. "No second thoughts, but I am going to miss this place." 

She nodded. "Of course you will," she murmured. "I wish...I wish it didn't have to be this way." 

"I don't," he told her truthfully. "Sure, I'm sad to go, but that doesn't mean I want to stay." He frowned. "Does that make any sense?" 

After due consideration, she smiled. "Actually, it does." 

He didn't reply, just mirrored her smile and lost himself in her eyes. His feelings for her seemed to be growing daily, multiplying out of control so that he only had to look at her to find a grin on his lips. Sam, of course, was still a model of decorum, keeping up her 'Colonels' and 'sirs' with a devotion that only Carter could think necessary. But he didn't begrudge it, in fact he found it quite endearing. Although, he was well aware that, right now, she could pick up a P-90 and blow the head off a fluffy bunny and he'd still think it was endearing - everything about her was bewitching. It was a strange sensation, but distantly familiar. He'd felt like this once before, and he recognized the intoxicating sensation of   
emotions in free-fall; he was falling in love. Of course, he'd loved her for a long time already - he loved all his team, in a macho kind of way - but this 'falling' business was completely different. He was utterly off-balance, giddy, and very well aware that he was on the brink of giving himself away. It was a wild ride, especially for a man like Jack O'Neill, who preferred his emotions to be strictly under control. 

A dreamy look drifted into Carter's eyes as she gazed at him, and his heart flipped over as he imagined that maybe her thoughts were turning in a similar direction to his own. He'd have given good money right then to be able to pull her into his arms and leave her in no doubt as to his feelings - now that the end was close, the light at the end of the tunnel was so bright it was almost blinding and he was finding it harder and harder to resist her. Clearing his throat against the wave of sudden desire, he said, "So...do you have plans tomorrow, Carter?" 

The dreamy look disappeared from her eyes immediately, replaced with a bright excitement that bordered on nervousness. "Actually, no. You?" 

"That depends," he said, suddenly feeling unexpectedly apprehensive. 

"On what?" she replied with a small smile. 

He shrugged. "On whether you wanna do something." 

"Something...," she mused. "Something like...?" 

"Dinner?" 

Her smile broadened. "Dinner sounds good." 

Okay, now his heart was racing. Racing! "My place?" he suggested carefully. And then, worried that she might assume he was expecting them to jump into bed together at the first opportunity, he added, "Or we could go out, if you...don't trust my cooking." 

The smile faded from her lips, and she looked at him seriously. "I trust your cooking," she assured him. "And I think your place would be...nice." 

Nice? What the hell did that mean? Nice for what? Eating or.... Oh, God, suddenly he was like an adolescent on his first date, totally clueless. It hadn't been like this with Tasha, there'd been no forethought, no worries. It had just happened slowly, and then one day they'd wound up in bed and that had been that. But this! Nothing had ever mattered this much to him, and he'd never been so terrified of screwing up. 

But one of the many wonderful things about Sam Carter was the fact that she seemed to already know him inside out. She gave his hand a gentle sqeeze, drawing him from his sudden panic as she fixed her eyes on his face. "Nineteen hundred?" she suggested with a reassuring smile. 

He nodded dumbly, acutely aware that this was a *date* they were arranging. A goddamn date! With Carter! "Sounds good," he agreed unsteadily. "I...can't wait." 

She grinned suddenly, a flash of sunshine that always set his heart tumbling. "Me neither," she confessed in a low voice that grabbed him right in the pit of his stomach. Oh, man! And then she stepped out of his arms, smiling all the while. "Thanks for the dance, sir." 

One had twitched, eager to reach out and tug her back into his arms. But he caught it just in time, and taking a deep, steadying breath he managed to match her playful formality with a little bow of his head, "The pleasure's all mine, Major." 

"Until tomorrow then...?" 

"Until tomorrow," he agreed with a lopsided grin. And with that she turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, leaving him standing there alone, no doubt grinning like an idiot and as excited as a kid on Christmas Eve. Tomorrow! Holy shit, it was gonna happen tomorrow...! 

*** 

"Leaving already?" the voice followed Sam down the corridor as she headed for the elevators, jacket slung over one shoulder. She smiled to herself at the sound of the voice and turned around to see Janet eyeing her from the other end of the corridor, a decidedly peeved expression on her face. 

Sam shrugged. "I'm tired," she explained. "I'm gonna go home and hit the sack." 

Janet said nothing, just raised an eyebrow as she walked towards her, heels clicking in the quiet corridor. "I heard something interesting this evening," she said as she drew nearer, her shrewd gaze never leaving Sam's face. "From General Hammond, of all people." 

"Really?" Sam replied doing a damn good job of feigning bland interest. 

"So," Janet said, cocking her head to one side, "when exactly were you going to tell me?" 

Her eyes narrowed. "Tell you what?" 

"About you and...." 

"Ah!" Sam objected, raising a hand and glancing nervously over her shoulder. "Don't." 

"So is it true?" Janet pressed, a hint of a smile in her eyes now. "Is that why he's leaving?" 

Sam shook her head, looking down self-consciously at her toes. "Nothing's happened...." 

"But?" 

With a sigh she raised her head, grabbed Janet's arms and tugged her into motion, speaking quietly as they walked. "But maybe. We'll see...I mean...we're going to try, that's all." 

Suddenly Janet grinned. "I knew it!" she exclaimed. And then, with a hint of disappointment, "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Because there's nothing to tell," Sam assured her, suddenly guilty. They were in front of the elevators now and slowed to a halt. Sam pressed the button and waited, glancing at Janet out of the corner of her eye. "You know how things are between the Colonel and me - I don't know how things are going to work out. It's all new right now, so I guess I just didn't know what to tell you. Nothing's happened yet." 

Janet nodded, folding her arms over her chest. "So why now?" she asked. "What changed? Something changed - something happened. Come on, Sam...spill it!" 

"I don't know if it was any one thing," Sam told her, thinking back over the long day she'd spent talking to Jack up at his cabin. "I think he's just tired of fighting and losing people. He said he wanted some peace - some time for...other things in his life - things he's missed, or...perhaps lost." 

A soft smile crossed Janet's lips. "A second chance?" she suggested. 

"I hope so," she replied, feeling a sudden welling up of emotion. "I hope that's what we have." 

Janet reached out and squeezed her arm, still smiling. "I'm happy for you, Sam," she said. "I hope it works out." 

"Yeah, me too." 

"And good luck!" Janet added as the elevator door slid open. "You're gonna need it!" 

*** 

Nervous didn't even begin to describe the army of butterflies cavorting around Jack's stomach as he put the finishing touches to the table. Glasses, plates, silverware...he struck a match and lit the slender candles that decorated the center. Damn, his hand was shaking! 

"Come on, Jack," he muttered to himself as he blew out the match. "It's just Carter." Only it wasn't just Carter, it was Sam. Sam! And this was a date, for crying out loud! "Okay," he told himself, "just relax." He glanced around the room for the hundredth time, but everything was just where it should be - the lights were low, but not too low, and music played softly in the background. Perfect. His eyes had just come to rest on the clock on the mantel, which said one minute to seven, when the doorbell rang. 

Sam! 

His heart did an odd little back-flip before plunging into his stomach and causing a riot among the anxious butterflies. This was it! Deep breath, deep breath.... Okay. Get the door. He swallowed hard, feeling tension tingle from head to toe as he walked into the entryway. The mirror near the door caught his eye as he passed - black sweater with a flash of white t-shirt at the v-neck, black pants. Kinda smart, he hoped. Not too smart. Hell, he had no idea what Carter would be wearing, but he'd wanted to make some kind of an effort. This was more than just a special occasion, this was the evening he'd dreaming of for years - and he wanted it to be perfect. 

He paused for a moment, offered up a silent prayer to whoever was listening, and pulled the door open. And there she was. Perfect. 

"Hi!" she grinned, but he could see she was as nervous as himself. "Am I early?" 

"No," he assured her, stepping aside and holding the door. "Come on it." A long black coat hung from her shoulders, giving only a tantalizing glimpse of elegant shoes and slim ankles as she passed. Doing an admirable job of staying cool he moved to help her with her coat. "Here," he said, slipping it from her shoulders, "let me get that." 

She glanced at him over her shoulders, smiling at his unusual gallantry. "Thanks, sir...." She winced. "Sorry." 

He just shrugged. "Don't be. I'll probably be calling you Carter all evening." Turning, he hung up her coat and it was only when he looked back around that he saw what the coat had hidden - a figure hugging little black dress. Holy smoke! "Wow," he breathed, reveling in the fact that he could actually say the words aloud, "you look incredible." 

"Thanks," she replied, grinning self-consciously. "I thought I'd make an effort - since it's a...special occasion." 

For a moment he just stood staring, until she started shifting nervously under his intense gaze and reminded him that they were still standing in the entryway. "Um, come it," he urged her, ushering her towards the living room. "Let me get you a drink. Wine?" 

"Thanks," she nodded, looking around her as they stepped into the softly lit room. Her gaze came to rest on the table, and a smile touched her lips. "Candles." 

He glanced up from pouring them both a glass of wine. "You sound surprised." 

She shrugged, moving towards him to claim her drink. "I suppose I am," she confessed. "I've never exactly seen your...romantic side before." 

"Well, it's a little rusty," he confessed. "So if I do anything wrong...." He held out a glass for her and she took it with another smile, her fingers accidentally brushing his and sending little caresses of fire up into his brain. Her fingers were so soft.... 

"So far so good," she smiled, raising her glass. "What shall we drink to?" 

He considered for a moment. "How about the future?" 

"Sounds appropriate," she agreed. "The future." 

They clinked glasses and each took a sip, eyes locked. It was safer that way - if he stopped gazing into her eyes he'd only find himself staring at the way her waist curved into her hips, or the way her legs just seemed to go on forever. Of course, he reminded himself, that wasn't entirely forbidden any more..... Feeling like a kid who just broke into the drinks cabinet he let his eyes drift down, over bare shoulders and a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage, towards those endless legs. God, she was sexy! 

The thought pulsed through him, tingling in all the right places, and he hurriedly returned his attention to her face, only to find her checking him out, equally blatantly. She grinned, one eyebrow raised mischievously, "So," she said, "what are we eating?" 

"Food?" he suggested, and she chuckled, breaking the tension. "Come on," he said, nodding towards the sliding door that led out onto his porch. "I'm gonna grill a couple of steaks." 

"It's freezing out!" she objected, still smiling. 

He shrugged. "Not going soft on me, are you Carter?" 

"When have I ever been soft, Colonel?" she asked pointedly. 

He let a slow smile creep over his face, watching her flush as his eyes lingered over her body. "Look kinda soft in that outfit, Carter. Not that I'm complaining...." 

She chuckled again, shaking her head, and after that things settled down somewhat. Jack disappeared out back with the steaks, and shortly afterwards Carter joined him, wearing her coat once more and hugging herself to keep out the chill. And they chatted, about this, that and everything - about work, his travel plans and whether the pyramids really were worth seeing once you'd visited Abydos. And as they talked, his nervousness began to fade. It might be *Sam* who stood next to him, so close her arm was constantly bumping his in a way he found delightful, but she was still Carter - she was still the woman he'd grown to respect, value, and ultimately to adore. And although the whole situation was unfamiliar to them both, it felt natural to be facing this new adventure with Carter by his side - after all, that's right where she'd been for the best part of four years. And he wouldn't have it any other way. 

Their conversation flowed on, as did the wine, once they were back inside and sitting close together at the table. Their meal finished, Sam was telling him about her latest project, and he listened with more rapt attention than he ever had in a briefing. He loved the sound of her voice, the way the candlelight glinted golden in her hair, and the way her eyes were alight with enthusiasm. He loved the way she smiled, the way she toyed absently with her fork as she   
spoke, and the sheer force of life he felt emanating from her. He loved that she was there, sitting next to him. He loved that he could reach out and take her hand and not feel guilty. He loved that the simple gesture brought her words to a stammering halt as her eyes widened and her fingers tightened around his hand. He loved that he could stand up and lead her towards the sofa, that he could pull her down at his side and at last say out loud the words he had felt so long in his heart; "I love you." 

She blinked once, slowly. "I love you, too," she answered softly. 

His hand trembled as he reached up and touched her cheek, soft as silk beneath his finger tips. "You're so beautiful," he breathed, running his fingers over her face, tracing the line of her cheek bone, her jaw, her lips. "I could never tell you that before." 

Sam covered his hand with hers, pressing her cheek against his palm. "I knew," she whispered, "I could see it in your eyes." 

He brought his other hand up to cup her face. "Sam," he whispered, leaning closer, "I want to kiss you." 

She smiled at that, dazzling him. "You don't have to ask," she whispered back. 

He couldn't reply, the anticipation had robbed him of words as slowly he drew her closer, tilting his head slightly as his lips found hers in a tender, spellbinding kiss. The moment was unbelievably sweet, her lips were soft and warm, her kiss so loving that he was left literally breathless when at last she broke the contact between them. But she moved no more than an inch, their foreheads resting together as they both recovered their bearings. 

Sam spoke first, a single word floating on a gentle breath, "Jack." 

The sound of his name on her lips touched his heart, bringing forth such a flood of emotion that he couldn't contain it any longer. "Oh God, Sam," he groaned, pulling her into his arms and burying his face in against her hair, dipping to kiss her neck as passion over took him. But he wasn't alone; Sam's arms clutched at him, her fingers ranging over his back and up into his hair as she pulled his head away from her shoulder to reclaim his lips for another kiss. Heated and demanding, the sweetness was replaced by raw desire as they kissed fiercely, deeply and endlessly. God! He was on fire for her! He pressed her down into the cushions, his mind spinning helplessly across the crashing waves of desire as his hands roved across her soft, supple body. He felt the silken touch of nylon as his fingers crawled deliciously up one leg, so slender and inviting. Desire flared and their kiss deepened as she shifted beneath him,   
pressing against him until the contact between them was complete and mind-blowing. He groaned softly, his fingers continuing their exploration of her leg until he suddenly touched warm, velvety thigh - oh God, she was wearing stockings! Sam gasped at the sudden flesh-on-flesh contact and Jack felt himself careering towards the point of no return. He was breathing hard, barely able to think beyond the red haze of desire. Barely, but...just. He stopped, gasping as he pulled away, gazing down at her flushed face as she blinked at him, as lost in the moment as himself. "Sam," he whispered, "if we don't stop now, I don't think I can....." 

"No," she breathed, reaching out eagerly to pull him back down, "don't stop." 

But he resisted for a moment, forcing himself to make sure. This had to be right, it had to be perfect. "Are you sure this is what you want - we could wait....?" 

"I'm sick of waiting," she said huskily. "I want this, Jack. I want you. Now." 

And that was it, he couldn't hold out any longer. With utter abandon, he surrendered himself to her and to the avalanche of passion that exploded inside him - mind, body and soul. Dimly through the tangle of limbs and kisses, he heard her gasp, "Bedroom!" and somehow they managed to make it there. But after that, the night was abandoned to a dance of pure sensation and emotion - and in that ultimate act of devotion, everything in his heart fell into place at last. And it was perfect. 

Just perfect. 

*** 

Epilogue 

It had been a long, hard mission, but a successful one. Daniel had made tentative treaty arrangements with Provost Belok, the leader of the Kaltoc community. Teal'c had translated numerous Goa'uld inscriptions that had been eluding their linguists, and Sommers had negotiated to bring home three pieces of technology that Sam was just itching to get into her lab. 

All in all, she was pleased. Mission accomplished - new allies and new technology. It made an appropriate end to an amazing year. As she stood with Teal'c in front of the dormant Stargate, waiting for Sommers and Daniel to finish their good-byes, she thought back to the first missions they'd faced as a team. With Jack gone, she had soon been reassigned back to SG-1, taking up the command with no small amount of trepidation. It hadn't been easy; Daniel and Teal'c had been struggling to adapt to losing Jack, while Captain Liz Sommers was doing her best to find her feet in the infamous SG-1. She'd later admitted to being terrified, but at the time she'd appeared to be professional, bright, and eager. And not without a sense of humor. She and Daniel sparred constantly these days, much to Sam's amusement. And although Liz won most of the time, she wasn't entirely convinced that Daniel didn't let her. Sam had caught the occasional speculative look coming from his direction that just made her roll her eyes and bite her tongue. 

Glancing down at her watch, Sam shifted impatiently, on the point of ordering the pair to speed up. Not that she wanted to be rude, but she had plans this evening and getting stuck on '593 didn't feature in them. 

"You are impatient to depart," Teal'c observed, watching her curiously. 

"Yeah," she agreed. "It's been a long week." 

His eyebrow raised. "It has been no longer than any other." 

"Teal'c," she protested, increasingly wise to his sense of humor, "you know exactly what I mean." 

He smiled slightly. "You wish to see Colonel O'Neill," he said. "And so the time passes more slowly for you." 

Glancing up at the Stargate, Sam nodded. "We're already two days overdue," she reminded him. "And at this point, I just want to get home, take a bath, and...," she broke off and flung a grin at Teal'c, "...and relax." 

"I have similar desires," Teal'c assured her, looking up at the gray sky. "The Kaltoc people are more hospitable than the climate of their planet." 

"No kidding," Sam agreed. The rain was constant, rattling down over every roof, walkway and open space available on the soggy planet. And at the moment, rattling down over her. The peak of her cap was dripping, just missing her nose, and she could feel the water starting to seep down the back of her neck. She shivered slightly, closed her eyes and lost herself in a momentary fantasy of a hot bath and Jack's fingers easing the aches and pains from her back. Hmmmmm..... 

"Sam?" Daniel was calling to her from across the plaza, where he stood talking to the Kaltoc delegation. "We're ready to go." 

'At last!' Sam thought, although all she said was, "Thanks, Daniel. Captain, dial us up." 

"Yes Ma'am," came the sharp reply, as Sommers trotted towards the DHD and began punching in the co-ordinates. 

As the gate started to spin, Sam turned to face it and hefted her pack onto her back for the last time. Daniel came to stand at her side, trying in vain to wipe the rain from his glasses. "So," he said, casting a swift glance towards Teal'c, "since we're a couple of days late, does this mean we're going to find Jack hopping around at the foot of the gate again?" 

Sam glared at him. "That only happened once," she reminded him primly. "And we were a *week* late and had made no contact." 

"Right," Daniel nodded seriously, trying, and failing, to hide his smile. "Sure." 

"He won't be there," she assured him, and was about to tell him exactly why not when she was interrupted. 

"Colonel Carter?" 

"Yeah," Sam said, turning towards Liz Sommers. 

"Could you give me a hand with these, Ma'am?" She was struggling with three large boxes containing the Katoc technology. "I'd have asked Daniel," she added as Sam lifted the top box from the pile, "but you know what tends to happen when he touches alien devices." 

"That," Daniel said, taking the second box from Sommers, "is a myth propagated by the ex- and unlamented leader of this team, and has no basis whatsoever in fact." 

"Really?" Sommers asked. "But what about the time on P8T-892? Jack told me that you...." 

"You don't want to believe everything that man says," Daniel warned her. "Hyperbole is his forte." 

Sam grinned and shifted the box she held so that it was more comfortable in her arms. "I don't know, Daniel," she said, "if I remember right it *was* you who activated the device back on P8T-892." 

"It could have happened to anyone," he muttered irritably, moving past her towards the Stargate. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Sam saw Sommers smile as she followed Daniel up the steps to the gate, although she said nothing more to him. Falling in behind them, a smile touched her own lips, provoked by her new team's growing familiarity and ease, and by the fact that she was at last going home. 

*** 

By the time they'd showered, changed and debriefed, the afternoon was turning slowly into evening and Sam glanced anxiously at her watch as she tried to bring some kind of order to her desk. 

A soft knock at the door drew her attention from her bulging in-tray and she glanced up. "Come in." 

Daniel's head poked around the door. "Still here?" 

"Paper work," she sighed, pushing disconsolately at the pile in front of her. "Now I know why Jack used to complain so much." 

Daniel smiled. "I never saw his desk look this tidy," he said. And then added, "Teal'c, Liz and I are going to grab a beer. You want to come along? I bet the paperwork can wait until tomorrow." 

"It sounds good," Sam nodded, "and you're right about the paperwork. It can wait." She stood up and reached for her jacket. "But I can't come. I have to get home." 

Stepping further into the room, Daniel shrugged. "Come on," he pressed, "you can call Jack and have him meet us there." 

"I can't," Sam insisted, feeling a little self-conscious as she admitted, "we've got plans." 

"Oh?" 

"It's a kind of anniversary," she explained as she shrugged on her jacket. "We've been together a year, so...." 

"A year?" Daniel exclaimed, shaking his head. "Really? That long?" 

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Sam agreed, edging him towards the door as she prepared to leave. The paperwork really could wait. And so what if she was off for the next two days? Sometimes life was more important than filing reports. She opened the door and held it for Daniel. 

"You know," he said as he passed her, "as much as I miss having Jack around the SGC, and as much as I know he misses it, I don't think I've ever known him as happy as he is right now." 

Sam couldn't help the grin that spread over her face at his words. "Really?" she asked, although her heart already whispered the truth. "Do you think so?"

"It's obvious," Daniel replied as they started to make their way towards the elevators. "He seems...," he paused, struggling to find the right words, "I don't know, at peace with himself. Do you know what I mean?" 

"Yeah," Sam agreed quietly. "I do. Not that he can't still be a little...." 

"Volatile?" 

Sam chuckled. "That's one word for it," she agreed, and then shrugged. "But he wouldn't be Jack if he was too placid." 

"No," Daniel laughed. "Placid is not a word I can ever see associating with Jack!" As they approached the elevator the doors swished open and they hurried in. 

They were silent for a moment, but as the elevator juddered into motion Sam glanced at him and quietly said, "Last week he got out this old photo album to show me - it was of Charlie. I don't think he'd looked at it since he died." 

"Wow," Daniel murmured in astonishment, "that's great." 

"It's amazing," Sam agreed. "It's the first time he's talked about him, voluntarily. It was nice." 

Daniel smiled and reached out to touch her arm. "You're good for him, Sam." 

"Oh, I don't know if it's me," she said with a shake of her head. "He's got a whole lot more time to think these days." 

The elevator slowed, the doors opened with a ping, and Daniel dropped his hand. But he was still smiling, "It's you," he assured her as they stepped outside. "It's obvious to all of us." 

She smiled, grateful for his words. "He's good for me too," she assured Daniel. 

"Oh yeah," he nodded with a playful grin. "That's obvious too." 

Sam rolled her eyes. "I'm not even going to ask," she assured him as she fished her car-keys out of her jacket pocket. 

Daniel didn't reply, but just pulled her into a warm hug. "Have a great evening," he told her, letting her go. "Oh, and remind Jack we're playing racquetball tomorrow morning." 

"Sure," Sam nodded. "And you have fun tonight. Don't let Liz drink too much. You wouldn't want to have to drive her home again, would you?" She flashed him a mischievous grin of her own, and was amused to see the slightly self-conscious look on his face as he waved goodbye. 

"'Night Daniel," she called, turning to her car. She'd be home in twenty minutes and she simply couldn't wait. 

*** 

It was dark by the time Sam reached home, and she smiled to see the warm light spilling from the windows of Jack's house. It was odd she reflected, as she stopped the engine of the car and stepped out into the cool evening air, that she considered the place both home and 'Jack's house'. But that was the way she saw it; she felt at home at his house. Hell, she practically lived there, if she was honest. Over the year they'd been together the number of nights she'd spent in her own apartment had rapidly dwindled to nothing, although she still hadn't given up the lease. For a while, having her own place had provided an anchor as she and Jack had crashed headlong into a passionate relationship so full of tangles that she'd been half-afraid that the years they'd spent denying their feelings would never be overcome. But slowly, patiently, they had been. To the point that now, when Sam talked about home, everyone knew she meant Jack's house, and the rent she paid out for her apartment was becoming increasingly irksome. 

She had to discuss it with him, she decided. But not tonight. Not after a long mission, when all she wanted to do was sink into his embrace - the one place in the world where she knew she was truly at home. 

Eagerly, she climbed the steps to the porch and turned the key in the lock. As the warmth and the light enveloped her, she sighed at the sensation of homecoming. "Hi!" she called, closing the door behind her. From the living room she could hear music, and she'd taken a step in that direction when she heard him coming down the stairs. 

"Sam!" he grinned warmly. "Hey." 

God, he was a sight for sore eyes! That smile, those meltingly dark eyes.... "Hey," she said as he came towards her, smiling at the enthusiasm in his face. 

"How did it go?" he asked, pulling her into a tight embrace and just holding her there, rocking her gently. "Mission accomplished?" 

"Yeah," she sighed, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensations she'd been craving all week. "It went well. Treaties, technology, allies - the whole deal." 

"Daniel and Teal'c behave themselves?" 

"Of course. Daniel did a great job with the negotiations." Pulling away a little, Sam smiled up into his face. "I really missed you," she told him, seriously. "I couldn't believe it when Daniel asked for a couple of extra days." 

Jack rolled his eyes. "So he's to blame is he?" 

"Did General Hammond call you?" 

"Yeah," Jack nodded. And then shrugged. "These things happen." 

Reaching up, Sam kissed him fondly on the lips. "I'm just glad I got back today. I *really* wanted to be here tonight." 

"Hmmm," Jack murmured back, his lips brushing hers as he spoke, "me too." 

Winding her arms back around him, Sam delighted in the feel of the muscles shifting across his back as he tightened his hold on her. And as their languorous kiss flared into something more heated, she fell happily into a delicious haze of emotion and sensation. She was about to abandon herself entirely to the moment when an appetizing aroma drifted under her nose and her eyes flashed open. "Wow," she said, pulling away from him a little, "something smells amazing!" 

"You," Jack breathed, as he nuzzled her neck, "you smell amazing, Sam." 

"No," she replied, her eyes fluttering shut at the intense sensations he was creating, "I'm talking about the food." 

"Oh," Jack sighed, lifting his head and smiling at her, "that." He raised an eyebrow. "Hungry?" 

She nodded, feeling a definite hole in her stomach. "Is it ready?" 

"Yeah," he said, "but it can keep." His grin turned speculative and he kissed her again, although with more affection than passion this time. "I thought you might want to soak in the tub for a while first - work out some of those post-mission kinks." 

Sam smiled. "You're right," she admitted, charmed by his thoughtfulness, "that's exactly what I'd like to do." 

Taking her hand in his, Jack led her towards the stairs. "Come on then," he said. 

"I know where the bathroom is," she reminded him. 

"Sure you do," Jack agreed as they reached the top of the stairs. "It's right here..." 

As he pushed open the bathroom door, Sam was astonished at what she saw. The room was lit entirely by candles, surrounding a steaming, wonderfully scented bathtub. "Jack," she laughed, "I don't believe this! Wow. This is just....wow." 

His arms slipped around her waist, pulling her backward against his chest. "I figure I get to spoil you on our anniversary," he murmured against her cheek. 

"Oh, I don't know," she teased, resting her face against his. "I could get used to this. You might have a job for life." 

He smiled and kissed her lightly. "Don't let the water get cold," he urged, letting her go so that she could turn around to face him. 

"Are you going to join me?" Sam asked, running a finger over his chest. 

He gave a wolfish grin. "Maybe later," he said, catching her hand and raising her fingers to his lips, "we've got all night." 

"All night?" Sam repeated, smiling slowly. "I like the sound of that." 

*** 

"So," Jack said, lifting his glass, "to...us?" 

"To us," Sam smiled, clinking her glass against his and taking a sip. "It's been a pretty amazing year." 

Jack nodded, watching the way the candlelight played in her hair and wondering, for the hundredth time, how he got to be so lucky. "It's been the best," he assured her, enjoying the smile his words provoked. But it didn't last long and her eyes were suddenly serious as she reached across the table to take his hand. 

"I know it hasn't always been easy," she said. "You gave up a lot for this - for us." 

Lacing his fingers through hers, he shook his head. "I think got more than I gave up," he said. Her face scrunched slightly, and he could tell she was unsure of the truth of his words. "I don't know how to explain it," he said quietly, gazing into her eyes the whole time he spoke. "For almost the whole time I was at the SGC, I never thought about the future beyond the next mission. I never thought I'd have a life outside the Air Force again." He smiled at her ruefully. "I guess I imagined, maybe even hoped, that I'd go out in a blaze of glory somehow - a hero to the end." 

"You regret that?" she asked seriously. 

He squeezed her hand, reassuring her, and his smile deepened, "Not for a second. I just feel incredibly lucky to be here, with you, Sam." 

She dropped his gaze, shaking her head in typical self-depreciation. "I still wish it could have happened another way. That you hadn't had to give up so much...," she said, but he cut her off before she could complete her sentence. 

"I don't care how it happened," he told her. "I'm just glad that it did." 

Looking up again, there was a touch of a smile on her lips. "Really?" 

He nodded, not saying anything for a moment. But his heart started racing as he realized that he might actually go through with his crazy plan for the evening. Adrenaline pumped and nerves started partying in his stomach. He wanted to prove this to her, to convince her how much this all meant to him, and there was only one way he could think of.... "Sam," he said, aware that his voice was a little huskier than before, "let's go sit down." 

Her eyes widened; she was on to him. "Okay," she said carefully, watching him with open curiosity as, with hands still clasped, they moved to the sofa and sat down. 

"I want you to understand something," Jack said once she'd settled herself next to him. "A year ago, my whole life involved the SGC. It was all I had - friends, family, job. And I thought that if I ever left.... I thought that without it I'd be nothing." He stopped, edging closer to her and tightening his grip on her hand. "But it didn't work out that way." 

Sam smiled and nodded, her eyes shining brightly. "I'm glad," she said. 

"Yeah," Jack nodded. "Me too." For a long moment he just gazed at her, trying to read the emotions that played over her face; affection, pride, love, a trace of regret. They were all there, and beneath them ran the current of enthusiasm that he loved most about her; everything Sam did was done with passion, and it blew him away to know that he was the one who could ignite that fire in the most intimate of ways. As he lost himself in her captivating gaze, he suddenly knew that this was the right time. It was perfect. 

"You remember the other day?" he began, knowing that he sounded nervous and seeing a touch of confusion cloud Sam's eyes. "When I showed you those pictures of Charlie?" 

"Of course," she replied immediately, her hand tightening almost imperceptibly over his. 

"I hadn't looked at them for years. It was too hard...but I felt different this time," he said, struggling to articulate the emotions he'd been experiencing over the past few weeks. "I didn't think it was going to overwhelm me - for the first time...ever....I felt like I could cope with it. And I have you to thank for that, Sam." 

She just smiled, her eyes glimmering with emotion as she squeezed his hand again. 

"And the thing is," he continued, "feeling so different about Charlie has gotten me thinking about...other stuff." 

"Oh?" Sam asked, suddenly seeming nervous. Her fingers twitched slightly in his hand. 

"Yeah," he nodded, swallowing hard as he realized that this was it. If he was going to do it, now was the moment. 

"Thinking about what?" Sam prompted, obviously trying to help him along. 

"About the future, I guess," he said carefully. 

"The future," Sam repeated. And then she smiled again, a flash of nervous excitement illuminating her face. "Yours or ours?" 

Jack's heart fell over itself as Sam cut straight to the heart of the matter. Damn, he loved this woman! He grinned at her blunt question, shifting slightly and looking up at her from under his brow as he hesitantly asked, "I've been wondering if you'd ever thought about getting married?" 

Sam's eyes widened. "In the abstract or the specific?" 

"Ah - both, I guess," he muttered, unable to read the slightly amused expression darting across her face. 

"Jack?" she asked, her lips playing with a smile, "was that a proposal?" 

"That depends," he told her, "on your answer." 

Sam's humor escaped her and she smiled the smile that had always set his heart thundering in his chest. "Yes," she said abruptly, "I have thought about marriage." She raised an eyebrow. "Good enough answer?" 

"Almost," he agreed, her infectious smile provoking a grin of his own. "But it kinda depends on *what* you were thinking." 

Sam nodded. "Specifically?" she clarified, clearly enjoying the game although her bright eyes betrayed her excitement. Jack just nodded, letting her build the tension, reveling in the electricity charging between them. "Specifically, then," she said slowly, her eyes not leaving his for a moment, "I think it sounds...wonderful." 

Jack felt the breath leave his lungs in a whoosh. "It does," he managed to reply, "doesn't it?" 

"So...?" she asked, eyeing him thoughtfully now, every feature alive with the moment. 

"So," he nodded as he let go of her hand and reached into his pocket for the small wooden box he'd kept there all evening. When he pulled it out he saw all traces of humor fade from Sam's face as her eyes widened and one hand shot up to cover her mouth. 

"Oh my God," she breathed, her wide eyes darting from his face to the box. "Jack!" 

He grinned, delighted that he'd managed to surprise her. There wasn't a lot that could ruffle Sam Carter. Carefully he opened the box and offered it to her. "Sam," he said, more calmly than he could ever have imagined, "marry me?" 

Her fingers were actually trembling as she reached out and took the ring from the box, and he could see her blinking rapidly, her lips pressed tightly together as she strove to control the emotions so obviously on the point of overwhelming her. For a long time she stared at the ring, her gaze lingering on the glittering blue of the stone, one minute azure, the next as dark as the ocean. "It's so beautiful," she breathed. "What is it? It's like nothing I've ever seen before." 

"No," Jack agreed with a small smile. "It isn't." She looked up at him, puzzled. "I found the stone a couple of years ago, on P8R-639," he explained. "The color always reminded me of your eyes, so I kept it." 

"It's from off-world?" she breathed. 

"Yeah," he nodded. "I had a look in some of the stores, but nothing seemed right. You deserve something utterly unique, Sam," he told her, suddenly fighting down his own emotions, "something as unique and beautiful as you." 

"Jack...." Sam breathed, her voice choking with emotion. "That's probably the most romantic thing I ever..." She broke off suddenly and looked down, wiping a hand hurriedly across her eyes. "Sorry," she mumbled. "This is just so...." 

With a huge swell of affection, Jack tilted her face up so he could see her. "I love you," he told her, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I don't want to ever let you go, Sam." Her eyes were bright with unshed tears and she reached up a hand to cover his, pressing her face into his palm. "Marry me, Sam," he repeated, lowering his hand from her face to take the ring from her fingers. 

For a long time nothing was said, they merely gazed at each other, enthralled and with no desire to escape. Everything she felt showed in her face now, every feeling shone vividly in her eyes, telling him more than any words could express. And he hoped that she saw as many shades of passion in his own eyes as he saw in hers. After a moment that had lasted a delicious eternity, Sam's lips moved. At first he heard no sound, but she tried again and the words were stronger. "Yes. Yes, I will marry you." 

No longer trusting himself to speak, Jack gently slid the ring onto her finger and held it there, hardly believing that this was really happening. Sam was wearing his ring. Sam! Words slid helplessly from his mind as he watched the stone glitter in the candlelight, beautiful on her beautiful hand. There was so much he wanted to tell her at that moment, but his emotions were too deep and powerful to be voiced. "I...," he stammered, but Sam cut him off with a finger on his lips. 

"Shh," she whispered, smiling through tears she could no longer hold back, "you don't have to say anything." And then she reached for him, pulling him into her arms as she buried her face against his neck. "I love you, Jack," she told him, her voice trembling and her breath hot against his skin. "I love you so much." 

He answered her the only way he knew how, covering her face in kisses that tasted salty from her tears, until his lips found hers and together they consummated the journey they had begun so many years before. "This is how it's meant to be," Jack told her, at last finding his voice, "this is how it was always meant to be, Sam." He felt her lips curve into a smile beneath his kiss and knew that, at last, his world was complete. 

*** 

Daniel had been standing on the porch for almost five minutes when the door eventually opened. Jack stared at him for a moment, ruffled hair and rumpled shorts evidence that he'd only just got out of bed. And then realization flashed across his face and he clapped his hand to his forehead. "Crap!" he cursed. "We were playing racquetball." 

"Sam didn't remind you?" Daniel guessed. 

"Ah, no," Jack grimaced. "Guess not." And then, remembering his manners, he pulled to door open and said, "Come in. Place is in kind of a mess, but...." 

Stepping into the still-sleeping house, Daniel raised an eyebrow at the scattered remains of the previous evening's obvious festivities: empty plates, candles, and wineglasses. 

Jack opened the drapes and let a bright shaft of sunlight into the room. "What time is it?" he asked, hurriedly scooping up a bundle of what looked like clothes from the floor. Daniel deliberately didn't notice what he was doing, choosing to study his watch for a moment instead. "Almost nine," he said. 

"We've got time," Jack decided, heading for the stairs. "Ah, the kitchen's also a mess," he apologized, "but if you want to make some coffee...?" 

"I'm okay," Daniel assured him, and then, unable to resist it, he added, "Looks like you two had a good night." 

The grin that exploded onto Jack's face was all the answer he needed. "Oh yeah," he nodded, eyes sparkling. 

"Daniel?" Sam's curious voice drifted down from upstairs. 

"Hi, Sam," he called. 

There was a pause, and then, "Damn. Racquetball. Sorry." She appeared at the top of the stairs, looking equally rumpled and wrapped in a bathrobe. "Are you late?" 

"Nah," Jack assured her as he reached the top of the stairs. "We'll make it. You know how overly-keen Daniel can be...." 

Daniel would have replied, in fact the barbed response was already forming on his lips, but he was distracted at the last moment by the sight of something golden glinting on Sam's finger. Sam rarely wore jewelry, and he'd never seen her wearing a ring. It could mean only one thing, and as the pieces suddenly clicked together - romantic dinner, oversleeping, clothes strewn across the floor - Daniel felt more than a little like the third wheel. "Ah, you know," he said, taking a couple of steps towards the door, "we don't have to do this today. I mean, you've just got up - I'm sure there are other things you'd rather be doing....?" He winced at his clumsy choice of words, and looked up to see Jack staring down oddly at him. 

"It's fine, Daniel," Jack assured him. "I'll be five minutes, tops." 

As he disappeared into the bathroom, Sam trotted downstairs with one of her bright, excited smiles. "So, you have fun last night?" she asked him, heading into the kitchen. 

"Yeah," he said, following her. "Not as much fun as you, by the looks of things," he added as he saw the chaos in the kitchen. 

Sam grinned. "Jack's pretty good at cooking," she admitted. "But he has no idea about clearing up. Coffee?" 

"Sure," he nodded, his eyes turning towards the ring on her finger. But he said nothing, figuring that Sam would tell him in her own time and having no desire to intrude. 

He'd only had time to drink half his coffee when Jack came bounding into the kitchen, hair still damp from a hasty shower. "Ready to go?" he asked, pulling open the fridge and rummaging for a moment before retrieving a large apple. 

"Whenever you are," Daniel assured him. 

"Then let's do it!" Jack insisted. "We don't want to be late, do we?" 

Daniel rolled his eyes, an expression Sam shared as she flung him an exasperated smile. "Have fun," she said. "Try not to damage each other." 

"It's racquetball, Carter," Jack replied merrily. And then, impulsively, he leaned over and kissed her soundly. "Don't worry about all this," he said, nodding towards the debris, "I'll clear up when I get back." 

Sam grinned. "Actually, I was planning to go back to bed," she assured him. 

A wicked expression flashed across Jack's face, which made Sam smile and blush. "I have about a week's worth of sleep to catch up on," she reminded him, pushing him gently away. "So go play, and let me rest." 

Daniel watched their little exchange with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment; he'd never seen them so demonstrative. But he held his tongue until Jack had pulled the front door closed behind them and they were walking together towards Daniel's car. "So," he said at last, as Jack flung his bag into the back seat, "you two seem...happy." 

"As always," Jack replied, but the irrepressible smile that broke out on his face belied his words. 

Daniel smiled to himself and shook his head. For all that he'd opened up over the past year, Jack still played his cards close to his chest. Still, he figured Jack would tell him when he wanted to, to.... 

"Daniel?" Jack blurted suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. 

"Yeah?" 

"You ever been a Best Man?" 

Daniel grinned, eyebrows raised. "Ah. No." He paused, watching the self-conscious smile spreading over Jack's face. "Why?" 

"Because I kinda need one," Jack admitted. "And I don't think Teal'c would do such a great job on the speech, so I was wondering if...?" He finished the sentence with a hopeful smile. 

"Interesting way to announce it," Daniel observed, shaking his head a little. 

"So?" Jack pressed. "Will you?" 

"Of course!" Daniel exclaimed in exasperation. "And congratulations! You're a lucky man - I'm assuming it's Sam...?" 

"Of course it's Sam!" Jack muttered, then grinned. "And thanks, I know I'm lucky. Incredibly lucky." 

Daniel smiled, and then rolling his eyes, gave an exaggerated sigh. "Well," he said, "Teal'c's gonna be upset." 

"About the Best Man thing?" Jack asked doubtfully. 

"No," Daniel assured him, opening the car door and slipping inside. "Because now he owes me fifty bucks." 

Jack blinked and didn't move for a moment, before hurrying around to the passenger side and getting in. "Fifty bucks?" 

"Well," Daniel explained as he started the car, "he said Sam was way too smart to ever agree to marry you." 

There was a long pause before Jack said, "He said that?" 

"'Major Carter'," Daniel said, doing his best impersonation of Teal'c, " 'would never submit to any man, least of all Colonel O'Neill.'" 

Jack laughed. "Well, he's right about that," he agreed. And then his eyes narrowed. "And you took his bet?" he asked, as Daniel pulled out into the road. "Despite his, um, cultural disadvantage?" 

"Seemed like easy money," Daniel grinned. 

"And here I was thinking *you* were the one with ethics!" 

Daniel chuckled to himself. "Teal'c's big enough to take care of himself," he said, glancing at Jack out of the corner of his eye as he drove. Despite their frivolous conversation he was touched by the news, and could see the genuine happiness in his friend's face. It suited him, he decided, adding a warmth and lightness to his sometimes severe features. "Seriously," Daniel said more quietly, "I'm happy for you Jack. You deserve this, you and Sam. You never had it easy." 

"Yeah," Jack nodded, his gaze turned inwards although a smile still played in his eyes. "It's been a long time coming, but now it's here...." He sighed happily. "It's incredible, Daniel. And it keeps getting better." 

"I know what you mean," he replied, his heart aching dully with memories of Sha're. "When it's right, it's right. And nothing beats it." 

Jack must have picked up on the note of sadness in his voice, because his tone changed. Losing its slightly wistful undertone it was stronger as he said, "You know, when Sara left, I didn't think I'd ever meet anyone else I could love like that. I thought that was it; it was over forever. But Sam?" he shook his head, smiling once more. "It's totally different, Daniel. I don't want to compare them, but with Sam it's just incredible. It doesn't lessen what I had with Sara, but I don't know if I've ever been this happy before. And if it can happen to me...?" He left it hanging, and Daniel smiled. 

"I know," he said quietly. "And thanks." 

They rode in silence for a while after that, until Daniel sensed Jack fidgeting slightly. After a moment longer, and in a lighter tone, Jack said, "So, do you think we should invite Thor?" 

"To the wedding?" Daniel laughed. "Sure, why not? And the Nox would add a certain touch of...elegance." 

"How about the Tok'ra?" Jack continued. "Can we get away with *not* inviting them?" 

"I doubt it. What about Jacob?" 

"Good point." 

"Not the Aschen though," Daniel decided. 

"Definitely not," Jack agreed. "How about the guys from the Land of Light?" 

And so their conversation continued as they drove, allowing Daniel to bask in the warmth of their friendship. He was truly happy for both Jack and Sam; their years of service and sacrifice were at last being generously rewarded. He smiled a little as he considered the idea that perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, the cosmic balance was somehow being restored; the heroes were actually getting what they deserved for once. And he knew that the world had no greater heroes than Sam Carter and Jack O'Neill. Yet it was somehow fitting that these anonymous heroes would find their reward, not in the fame and adulation of others, but in the simple pleasure of sharing their lives and finding solace in each other's arms. 

It was, he mused, the perfect ending. 

And the perfect beginning.


End file.
